


Heredity and Blackmail

by LaughingStones



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lust Potion/Spell (though it's more complicated than that), Malfoys are not nice people, Momentary suicidal thoughts, Multi, Not Britpicked, WIP, even to their own family, non-con, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of his make-up year at Gallagher's Auror Academy, Draco seems to have acquired a curse.  It has the surprising effect of making people in his vicinity try to have sex with him, which is not nearly as enjoyable as he might have assumed.</p><p>Also, Harry Potter keeps trying to protect him, which is equal parts intriguing and infuriating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Draco Appears To Acquire A Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Britpickers are welcome to volunteer! I am a clueless American.
> 
> All chapters are subject to editing after being posted.

Gallagher’s Auror Academy

Headmaster Trenton Gallagher

Dear Mr. Draco Malfoy,

            As you know, the last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was disrupted to an extent injurious to the students' ability to learn. All students whose final year it was are therefore cordially invited to attend Gallagher’s Auror Academy, where a curriculum equivalent to the seventh year at Hogwarts will be available for one year only.

            If you wish to complete your education in order to take your N.E.W.T.s, or in fact explore further education in the classes of your choice, that opportunity is now open to you. The books and equipment required will be the same as those last year, list enclosed.

            Classes begin September 1st. We await your owl by August 1.

Yours sincerely,

Sagacity Calypso

\------

Draco made it halfway through his first year at Gallagher’s before his father finally lost patience. Had anyone told him that Lucius was exerting his patience – or lenience, or any of the other kindnesses towards a wayward heir that Lucius might claim – Draco would have scoffed. Of course there had been a flaming row when he'd stated his intention to go - his parents had intended him to go abroad for further schooling, where, Lucius said, he might meet someone eligible - but Draco had said certain things about having already learned the perils of being subject to others' errors of judgement and that he planned to decide for himself who to trust and who to follow from now on. Lucius had paled with fury and Draco was a twitch away from grabbing for his wand when his father turned on his heel and swept from the room. Draco had been viciously pleased to have won the fight.

He probably should have realized that standing up to his father for the first time in his life would have consequences.

\------

The first sign he had that something was wrong showed up halfway through the day in Advanced Charms. Since the students were supposed to be animating their chairs to follow them around rather than say, casting warming spells on each other, he was puzzled by the strange flush of heat that crept through his body. The heat remained for the rest of class, and by the end of the period had begun to pulse in the pit of his stomach. By the time class ended, it had clarified into a perfectly familiar sensation. He was eighteen, after all; he knew what lust felt like. Usually if it came on in class, though, it was because one of the girls was leaning forward just so, (or, admit it, because one of the blokes had fitted robes that hinted at an amazing arse). No one had been doing anything tempting in class. He hadn’t even looked at anyone. So why this sudden surge of need?

Reluctantly, Draco took himself to the gents’, cast an Imperturbable charm on his stall, and dealt with it. He cast a mild fantasy charm to make it more than perfunctory, pushing himself into a luscious hot wet mouth. The illusion wasn’t thorough, more a vague shape to give the imagination some help – a moving image, faint sounds, the impression of sensation. He couldn’t even have said if the mouth belonged to someone male or female, but Draco gave himself over to it. He was secure enough in his own spellwork to make some noise, working up to it, then sagged against the door for a moment, recovering from the lassitude and the wobbly knees. A few wand-passes were enough to wipe away the evidence and banish the spell, but the second he stepped out he wished he’d thought to charm away the betraying flush in his cheeks.

Because of course, who would he run into now of all times but Potter?

Green eyes glanced up and met his horrified gaze in the mirror. “Malfoy,” said the level voice.

“Aren’t I the lucky one?” cooed the mirror. “Two such handsome chaps to reflect at the same time! Remember to wash your hands, blondie!”

Potter frowned at him. “Were your ears ringing just now, in that stall?” He knocked the side of his head with the heel of his hand, experimentally. “Felt like they were blocked, suddenly.”

“I’d have my hearing checked, Potter,” Draco said coolly, and brushed past him to the sinks. He made a private note to work on that charm, since apparently it hadn’t quite adhered to the walls of his own stall. If it’d slipped a little more, someone in the stall beside him might’ve found that they couldn’t touch one side of their stall, nor hear properly out of that ear. That would attract the wrong sort of attention.

“You feeling overwarm, Malfoy?”

In the midst of splashing his face with cool water, Draco twitched. The bastard hadn’t moved, still right behind him, and despite the wet chill on his face and neck and halfway up his arms, Draco felt heat flush through him. Almost against his will, he glanced up to see Potter watching him in the mirror. Short black hair badly in need of a comb, disreputable clothing – as if he didn’t have the money to buy a tailor-made wardrobe, Draco thought irritably – but a solid frame beneath that, he couldn’t help but notice. Potter was getting quite the set of shoulders on him, and behind the smudged glasses those green eyes glinted at him.

Cursing viciously to himself, Draco plunged his head full under the stream of cold water and held it there for a moment.

He was getting hard again already.

Of all the times for randy adolescent impulses to come into play.

“You know, Malfoy, if you don’t want to talk to me I won’t be shocked; don’t drown yourself for politeness’ sake.”

Draco came out of the water and shook his head hard, hearing the annoyed yelp behind him with vindictive pleasure as water sprayed everywhere. “Oh, now, really!” said the mirror sharply, droplets scattered liberally across it.

“Don’t you have a class to be 'teaching', Potter?” Draco said, glaring at him in the mirror, braced over the sink. He was always careful to drop the quotation marks audibly in place. Just because Potter was some sort of savant at Defense Against the Dark Arts didn't mean he had any right to teach a class.

“Yes, and you’re in it, you git!” Potter polished his spattered glasses on his shirt, shoved them onto his nose again, and met Draco’s gaze with his usual odd look, part irritation and part – puzzlement? Calculation? “We start in ten minutes. Don’t be late.” He turned on his heel and left.

Draco only realized he’d been staring at Potter’s arse when the door closed behind him.

“Hell,” he growled, and went back into the stall.

\------

Eleven minutes later, Draco had come three times, somehow recovering faster each time, and the need had finally faded a bit. He arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom still shaky and weak in the knees.

He might have thought it was just his luck today to be late when Potter had decided to make an example of tardiness, but most likely it was their encounter that had spurred the decision. Draco opened the door and walked into a cloud of utter blackness like night distilled. Gasping in shock, he whipped out his wand and hissed “ _Protego!_ ”

Nothing happened, no sound of any offensive spell being countered, though he thought he'd heard a gasp or two. In the absence of immediate attack, Draco’s heart-rate quieted enough to hear beyond, and he realized that the silence had that peculiar quality of a roomful of people holding their breaths. "Lumos," he said experimentally, relaxing a bit. His wand-tip lit, but only showed a mournful speck of light, not even powerful enough to show the rest of his wand, much less penetrate the darkness.

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder,” Draco said, straightening up, wand-arm falling to his side.

“Based on it, I believe,” Potter’s voice said from farther into the darkness. “But the spell is much better, if highly complex, because anyone will be able to see again once the caster gives them the password. For the in-group, the air’s as clear as an ordinary day; for the out-group, the tardy folks today, it’s pitch as midnight in a Gringott’s vault.”

“Harry, did you invent it?” The girl’s voice, not one Draco recognized, begged for an excuse to gush over the Heroic Harry Potter, and Potter sounded a bit awkward as he rapidly disavowed anything to do with the spell’s creation. “I’m nothing like that advanced yet, you know – I couldn’t even cast it without help from Professor Turner.

“Anyway, the password is _Ignoramus_ , Malfoy. Come in.”

Aware that they could see him even if he couldn’t see them, Draco avoided the impulse to roll his eyes and muttered “Ignoramus,” like a swearword under his breath. Then he blinked and squinted as the darkness vanished, replaced by daylight streaming in a large window to light a long, narrow room filled with twenty Hogwarts students. Peering through watering eyes, he made his way along the wall to stand at the back, a bit separate from the rest, as usual.

Aside from Theodore Nott, who for unknown reasons had also chosen to attend Gallagher’s, and possibly for longer than this single year, Draco was the only Slytherin in the school, and he and Nott shared only one class. He almost wondered if it had been arranged that way, to keep the untrustworthy Slytherins separate so they couldn’t plot together. As if he and Nott had ever had any use for each other to begin with.

It wasn't as if he could trust other Slytherins even if any of his former coterie had been around. His family wasn't the only one that had experienced a loss of influence, and they would all be falling over themselves to stab their former comrades in the back if it would curry any favor with the rest of the wizarding world. Pansy despised him now, the one of his former henchmen who still lived had avoided his eyes the last time they'd met, and the rest of his House was no better.

He had known before that one could be surrounded by people and still feel isolated - case in point, the latter part of sixth year, when he'd sunk to the level of confiding in a plumbing-haunting ghost girl. As distracted as he'd been by his approaching doom at the time, he hadn't realized how lonely it could be.

His attention was caught by Potter’s voice on his name. “Did anyone notice Malfoy’s reaction to the spell when he first walked in?” There were several snickers around the room and Draco tensed. Thus far, Potter had seemed to consider himself above using his position to needle or otherwise persecute his old nemesis. It would be just like him to break habit today, when Draco was already out of sorts.

“No, I’m serious," Potter insisted. "Anyone?” Even still lost in that darkness spell, Draco would have known Granger was nowhere in the room by the absence of an immediate, bossy-voiced reply.

“He cast Protego at nothing,” sneered a familiar male voice. Draco spotted Weasley on the other side of the room. Must be so nice for him, finally ahead in class because it's taught by his best mate from school, he thought viciously.

“Yeah, he tried Protego,” Potter said, “went into a crouch and had his wand in his hand pretty fast, didn’t he? He immediately assumed the dark was cover for an attack. And if my teaching style was more like, say, Defense Against the Dark Arts our fourth year,” ah yes, the late and only nominally sane Mad-Eye Moody, "he might have been right. It might look a bit silly in a peaceful setting, but anywhere else that survival instinct is exactly what you want."

Draco felt his cheeks heat in the surge of confusion mingled with anger at what was, on balance, high praise. Potter tended to give out encouragement with a generous hand, but there were enough people in the class that Draco could avoid notice much of the time. He could never quite figure out how to react on the few occasions he was singled out like this. If it was criticism, a chilly, distant stare would've served, but glaring in response to compliments made him look juvenile. He settled on holding his face still, as though he couldn't care less what Potter said.

“Right, anyone else want to find out what it’s like on the other side of the spell?” Potter went on in the uncomfortable silence.

After some nervous giggling, a short, dumpy girl volunteered – something Abbott, Draco vaguely recalled. She walked out of the room, closed the door behind her, opened it again, and gasped. Eyes wide and focused on the empty air in front of her face, she clearly saw nothing within the room. Draco had to admit it was entertaining to watch her walk tentatively forward, hands stretched out a little way in front of her, eyes sweeping continuously from side to side, looking for something and seeing nothing. It was as if she’d become suddenly blind.

“M-Megan? Neville? Are you all still there?”

There was an immediate chorus of replies, not least from her friend Megan, who ran forward and took one outstretched hand in hers. The blind girl shrieked and tried to jerk her hand back, then gasped “Ignoramus!” and laughed in immense relief as her eyes suddenly focused on the rest of the room. “Oh, that was creepy!”

A low babble of conversation rose for a moment. “Could be a handy spell,” Draco caught from someone. “Think of the applications if you could get it off when a teacher walked in…”

“ – You could get off, yeah…”

“ – definitely rather be on _this_ side of it…”

“ – you see his _face?_ ”

“ – so strange, I didn’t even know you were there!”

“All right!” Potter called. “Let’s get on. We’re sparring in pairs again today, so everyone get a partner and face off against another team.”

Draco was unsurprised to be the last one to find a partner. Finally a tall, irritable girl with a Ravenclaw broach at her collar stalked up to him and the two of them turned to face Longbottom and that blonde Loony girl he seemed to be trying to date. (What she was doing here at all was a mystery to Draco – she hadn’t even been in their year, and Gallagher’s was supposed to be open to ex-seventh-years only, wasn’t it?)

“Everyone ready?” Potter said. “Right. Go!”

Hexes flew through the air along with jinxes, shields, and Disarming charms. Draco hated fighting Longbottom. It was that laidback confidence, that calm, irritating certainty that put Draco off-balance, made him sure Longbottom knew something he didn’t, not to mention that the blighter was _huge_. He seemed to have spent this year adding unfair amounts of height and shoulder, and last year he’d gotten _good_ , when Draco’d been dodging Crucios and following the Dark Lord’s orders like a house elf. At least Draco’s reflexes matched his, and with this year’s practice he was beginning to get some speed on his hexes as well, even if Longbottom made him feel like a skinny third-year in comparison.

To his left the Ravenclaw was flinging charms a bit haphazardly at their opponents, which the blonde girl countered almost languidly, smiling with weird, dreamy eyes. Longbottom would toss off two jinxes at Draco, then one at his irritable companion, not waiting to see if they connected before beginning the next flurry. He occasionally paused for a second, apparently just to watch Draco, which was probably Draco’s least favorite of his tactics. Draco himself was busy countering all Longbottom’s jinxes for both him and his companion, who didn’t seem to have got the hang of a simple _Protego_ yet, so he only managed to get off the occasional hex between shields. One of them nearly got through, though, which brought a mocking grin to Draco’s face until Longbottom redoubled his efforts, eyes narrowed with concentration.

In quick succession he countered a Leglock jinx and _Rictusempra_ , then barely managed to block a paralysis curse sent at the girl beside him. Side-stepping to counter the next one better, he almost knocked into her, brushing his elbow against her side.

“Watch it, Malfoy,” she snapped, and Draco would have said something snide back if he weren’t distracted by the sudden wave of heat sweeping through his body. He was abruptly half-hard again, but worse than that was the strange sensitivity, a rush of awareness of every inch of cloth rubbing against his skin. Everything began to move slowly, as if underwater, and Draco had time to watch Longbottom’s wand twist and flick as he sent the next curse, recognize it midway, and deflect it with a lazy sweep of his own wand. He had plenty of time before the next one needed to be countered to send one back at Longbottom, one that would hit home this time – but instead of casting it, he stepped again to the left, one hand hooking around the tall girl’s waist, and pulled them closer together, wand moving in a silent _Protego_ to ward off a stinging jinx.

“Malfoy,” the girl hissed, unable to cast at their opponents while tangled against him. “Get your sodding hands off me!” Her wand raised menacingly, began to sweep down to throw something painful at him – Draco made ready to protect himself against his companion as well as the two they were fighting – and then her face changed, eyes widening in confusion, lips parting. She swallowed, shifting against him, her body flexing tentatively, and then her expression went hungry and determined.

Draco nearly swallowed his tongue in the kiss, or would have if hers hadn’t been wrapped around it. His hand tangled in her hair, the other at her waist pulling her tight against him, and she pressed just as close, long fine hands tugging at his clothes.

“My goodness,” said a dreamy girl’s voice a long way away, and Longbottom’s came close on top of it. “Malfoy! What the bloody hell did you – let her go!”

Some part of Draco was still paying enough attention to shield against the stream of icy water that flew through the air at them. In his arms, the Ravenclaw girl hummed enticingly and wriggled against him. They had to find some place well away from everyone, now.

“Harry!” yelled Longbottom.

“All right, hang on,” came Potter’s voice from the other side of the room, lifting over the sound of rebounding jinxes, shouted spells and shrieks of alarm. “Everyone – break off a minute, would you!” Most of the noise died away. Draco and his armful weren’t making much to begin with, except for rustles of cloth and soft panting.

“ _Finite Incantatum_ ,” Longbottom snapped in the comparative quiet. "Harry - !"

“I'm coming! What the – _hell_."

Babble broke out through the other students as everyone by now could see the pair enthusiastically snogging. “Everyone be careful, try to breathe through your nose,” the Loony girl said somewhere nearby. “They must have swallowed the emanations of a passing Split-Nosed Malhoa.”

“Mandy!” another girl gasped, in a thicket of anxious twittering. “What’s _wrong_ with her, that’s _Malfoy!_ ”

“Do you think she’s been jinxed?”

“What did he _do_ to her?”

“I already tried. He deflected it, and Finite didn't work,” Longbottom told someone.

“All right,” said Potter, sounding grim. “Without magic, then. Someone help me – Lisa, get Mandy.”

Draco had one hand up the girl’s shirt and she was trying to squirm one down his pants, which he desperately wanted to happen, when suddenly other hands seized them and started to drag them apart. Her sharp blue eyes stared into his for a moment longer – Draco clung to her and tried to jinx whoever was holding them – “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” snapped Potter, snatching Draco’s wand out of the air like a Snitch, and she was dragged away by two girls who both peered anxiously into her face and started asking questions.

All at once, Draco became aware of several things. He had just been passionately snogging a Ravenclaw he barely knew and didn’t much like, and it had not even occurred to him to stop until they were separated by force. He was hard enough to be almost shaking. And whatever it was that had caused all this – because it was definitely not ordinary adolescent lust – was still active, because he was now feeling the intense urge to step forward into Potter and grind. Merlin.

Heaving for breath, nails digging into his palms, Draco took a step back and looked around a little wildly. He was surrounded by staring faces, none of them friendly, and he was disarmed.

He had no idea what was happening to him and he was about to pay for it anyway.

"What did you cast on her, Malfoy?" Longbottom said sharply.

"I didn't," Draco said. His voice came out unsteady and he clenched his jaw, trying to regain control.

" _Prior Incantato_ ," Potter murmured, pointing his wand at Draco's in his other hand.

“Oh my God,” said a girl abruptly off to one side. The Ravenclaw – Brocklehurst – was sagging at the knees, supported by her two friends. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be ill. I couldn’t stop!” she said desperately, and Draco felt his stomach twist into a knot. He could see this was going very bad, very fast. “I forgot what I was doing, I forgot who he was, I just – " She took a breath and straightened, her voice going shrill. "Malfoy, you slimy little git, _what did you do to me?_ "

"Nothing!" Draco snarled.

"If you think for one second - " she began, starting toward him with her wand up.

"Wait," Potter said, stepping between them. "I just tested his wand, and it hasn't cast anything recently but ordinary hexes and shields. I went all the way back to the Lumos he cast at the start of class." He looked around and raised his voice to cut through the babble. "Malfoy didn't do this."

Helpless gratitude and fury swept through him that Potter was keeping the mob in check. Gryffindor arse extraordinaire that he was, Potter _would_ think it was his job to protect Draco.

"Harry, you can't be sure - "

" - wandless Dark Magic!"

"Maybe he did it with another wand?" That was the Weasel, of course.

"No, Ron," Potter said in exasperation, "because someone would've noticed that! Look, drop it. I don't know what happened, but it wasn't Malfoy."

"Then what happened?" Brocklehurst demanded. "Because that wasn't me! I would never - not _Malfoy!_ "

"Yes, you wouldn't exactly be my pick either," Draco said in as close to his normal drawl as he could manage.

"I don't know," Potter repeated, sounding a bit strained. "Maybe you should both drop into the infirmary, see if Ben can find anything."

Brocklehurst shot Draco a look that suggested she'd be delighted to prolong his stay there. "Right. I'm going." One of her friends quickly petitioned to go with her and the two of them hurried out.

With all the terror and rage, Draco would normally have expected his arousal to subside, but in keeping with today's trend, it showed no sign of doing so. The pressure was growing more than uncomfortable – if he didn’t do something soon, he wouldn't be able to walk.

"Fess up, Ferret, what'd you do?" the Weasel said, abruptly in his face. Draco's fingers twitched for his wand, but before he could unleash his blistering scorn, Potter stepped in again.

"Budge off, Ron, I need a word with Malfoy."

"But - ! Harry - "

"Everyone get back to sparring!" Potter called to the room at large. "Pairs square off." The Weasel stomped away and Potter turned to Draco, frowning. “Do you know any spell that would cause something like that?”

"No. Do you?"

“No, but I never aspired to study or practice Dark Magic,” Potter said in a low voice.

Draco curled his lip. "You already said I didn't do it. Do I get my wand back yet, or have you already changed your mind?"

Those green eyes scanned him, evaluating, judging, their conclusion opaque as ever. Blowing out a breath, Potter handed his wand back, then glanced down. There was an unbearable pause as Draco's face heated and he yearned to hex Potter into oblivion.

“Best take care of that before you go see Ben,” Potter murmured, perfectly straight-faced, and strode away. “Good jinx, Hannah, but your shield's a bit sloppy – ”

Though sorely tempted to Obliviate him, Draco turned on his heel and left the room.

\------

He wanked for almost two hours, coming until he lost track of how many times. He tried prolonging it, stroking slowly, a little faster, then slowly again until his body gave up and finished without him. The need began to grow again less then ten minutes later. Tried it fast and hard as many times in a row as he could – and found it to be far more than should be possible. By the time he stopped, Draco was dripping with sweat, painfully sore, boneless and exhausted – and nearly as desperate with anxiety as frustration. This was not normal. He was used to a healthy young libido, willing to hump a hole in the wall or a bewitched cantaloupe if it would get him off, but this was something different. It was as if he was cursed, but he'd never heard of a curse like this.

After a thorough cleansing spell, Draco reluctantly took himself to the infirmary.

\------

Benjamin “Please, just call me Ben!” Summers, the mediwizard who ran the infirmary, had been suspicious of Draco at the beginning of the year. By the end of the third week of term, however, he'd become used to seeing the Malfoy heir on a frequent basis and tending to the various results of encounters with the angrier portion of the student population. When one particularly vicious run-in ended with a three-day infirmary stay, his manner softened noticeably and he’d become one of the few people who were dependably civil to Draco. In turn, Draco was coolly courteous. Some days you had to be grateful for anyone who wasn’t going to toss a jinx as soon as your back was turned.

He stepped through the door, glancing around to be sure the infirmary was empty of lurking students. This was going to be embarrassing enough to explain to Summers.

"I may have a minor issue," he said without preamble.

Summers turned as soon as he spoke, but without his usual smile. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the worktable behind him and regarded Draco in silence with cold brown eyes, face closed. "My only quibble with that statement would be the 'minor'," he said eventually.

"I - what?" He couldn't already know what the curse was, could he?

"I would say you have a major issue, Mr. Malfoy. You see, practicing coercive Sex Magic most definitely falls under the heading of Dark Magic, and if proven, carries an automatic Azkaban sentence." He paused for a moment to tilt his head at Draco, who was momentarily incapable of speech. "I’ve just had a very distressed young woman in here who'd found herself snogging someone she’d have preferred not to. I couldn’t find any evidence that she’d been jinxed, hexed, or cursed, there was no trace of any compelling magic around her, and I couldn’t detect any recent potion contact or ingestion. I know very little about Sex Magic, however, so the residue might simply dissipate too rapidly to be traced. I’m a bit curious, Mr. Malfoy. Can you shed some light on the matter?”

Draco could only shake his head at first, more in denial that this conversation was happening than in answer to the question. He felt like he'd been casually walking down a hallway between classes when a Bludger had come whipping around a corner and begun slamming into him, bruising whatever didn't break. The feelings currently knotting in his chest were quite reminiscent of that day two months ago, actually.

"I - I don't know," he said. “I didn’t do anything to her, I don't think. I – I’ve been, today it's been – I pulled her up against me – not on purpose – She almost hexed me, and then, we were – she kissed me!”

“Not on purpose?” Summers inquired softly.

"I didn't mean to do it." Draco flushed and looked away, knowing it made him look guilty and hating himself and Summers equally for it. “I’ve been… wanting. All afternoon. Worse than usual, and I can’t seem to... I can't - it doesn't go away!”

"So in the midst of this unquenchable lust you turned to the nearest young lady and expected her to assist you. Hardly an unusual tale, sadly - "

"I didn't _expect_ anything of her!" Draco broke in. "I don't even like her! And Potter already checked my wand to see if it had cast anything on her, and it hadn't!" He paused, breathing hard, and glared. "Check it yourself if you don't believe me."

"I believe I will." Summers stepped forward, took the wand Draco jabbed at him, and cast the spell. He raised an eyebrow at the sequence of spell-ghosts that issued forth and Draco muttered, "We were sparring, as usual."

"That explains all the hexes and shields, yes." He pushed the sequence back until a ghost-chair emerged and began ambling around the room, then ended the spell. "And that would've been in Advanced Charms, I imagine? And it's unlikely that you could've cast anything earlier to show up later, that sort of time delay is quite advanced."

Draco just glared at him.

Summers looked less like he wanted to feed Draco to a hippogryph, but his voice was still decidedly cool as he mused, “You know, Mr. Malfoy, one of the dangers of wandless magic in untrained hands is that the results are unpredictable. If you were desperate enough for a partner, it is possible that you produced one with a subconscious charm. That’s why we train you with a wand. That is why you’re in _school._ If you lose control of your magic to the point of being a danger to other people – ”

“I'm not a danger to anyone unless they attack me!”

“Do you know anything about rape, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco's mouth dropped open. "We were only kissing!"

"Oh, from her description, you were well on your way to doing considerably more. Wandless Sex Magic is still Sex Magic."

"I didn't _do_ that! Merlin's arse," Draco exploded, "if wanting someone was enough to make them snog me, it wouldn't have been her! It would've been someone more..." _interesting, inscrutable -_ no _._ "attractive."

Summers gave him a dubious look. "She seemed quite pretty enough to me. No young man is as picky as all that. In any case, what's your alternative explanation?"

"I don't - " Draco stopped and took a deep breath. "I think someone cursed me."

Summers let out one surprised snort of laughter. "Really. Some sworn enemy, desperate to make your life a misery, has cursed you to have lovely young ladies snogging you who ordinarily wouldn't give you the time of day. That's your theory."

He could feel himself flushing and glared helplessly. Put like that, it sounded idiotic.

"No, Mr. Malfoy, I think your explanation is a bit flimsy. And if you can't handle your own desires without forcing other people to get involved, not only are you going to find yourself in a deep, dark hole, you're going to embarrass the Academy. All your family's money won't help you then. The Headmaster took a risk with the reputation of this school, inviting you to attend, so the least you could do is watch yourself."

There was nothing to say to that, so Draco turned on his heel and left.

\------

The want was still there as he made his way toward the dining rooms, but since it stopped short of discomfort he put it out of his mind. Dinner went uneventfully, and afterwards Draco took his books and supplies outside into the overgrown gardens to do his homework.

Back at Hogwarts, he'd studied as hard as seemed necessary to content his father, but he'd never much worried about his marks. He'd always assumed that once graduated, whatever he couldn't get with his family's power and influence wasn't worth having. Now his name was useless, and if he didn't keep up with his work satisfactorily, they might throw him out. Then his father would have won.

Professor Turner had been less than pleased with his explanation of grounding in charms theory, so he had an arms-length of essay to struggle through before he could even _start_ on the charms practice assigned from the day’s class. After that there was research to be done on the potential uses of bloodroot as a stabilizing agent in potion-based spells, a painstaking diagram to be drawn of the Lesser Tangler-Oak’s root-system, and he swore he would practice the new Transfiguration exercise first thing before breakfast, because the rest of this rubbish was going to take him half the night as it was. Before setting to work, he spared a reluctant moment to be grateful that Defense Against the Dark Arts _was_ being taught through practice and practical applications and not by a real teacher – at least that was one out of five that didn’t drop loads of homework on his head every night.

Sunk deep in concentration over An Herbologist’s Potion Reference, Draco was irritated when the desire began to intensify again. Shifting position, he tried to get comfortable, then grimly ignored it once more. Eventually he might have to resort to his hand again, but not here, and not yet.

Down the path, the towering, unkempt bushes overhanging either side rustled as someone fought to get through, finally stumbling out with an amused curse, swiping twigs and scattered leaves off and out of his tightly curled hair. Draco slipped his hand back out of his sleeve, leaving his wand in its holster with some relief. Plenty of people he would not want to meet in an isolated cul de sac nearly lost in the tangles of greenery, but Bas Mamun counted among the least hostile Auror-trainees.

Not to mention that he was tall and good-looking and had a fascinating accent.

“Oh! Malfoy, you startled me, sitting so still.” His teeth flashed white, and Draco abruptly noticed how very uncomfortable the stone bench had become with his trousers so tight.

“Share your bench a moment?”

Frozen in dismay, Draco failed to answer, which the other took for acceptance. One warm, long-boned thigh pressed up against his as Mamun flopped gracefully down beside him. Draco had not believed in a God for years, but he might almost begin again, because _someone_ certainly hated him.

“Pleasant evening. Sunset always brings out the flowers’ scents.” Mamun leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. “I like to stroll out here at night, breathing it all in. It’s the only restful part of the night until I get to sleep at five.” He laughed softly. “Good thing it’s only a few weeks til break, don’t you think?”

“Mm,” Draco managed, trying to convey a mind occupied with homework and potions ingredients instead of sleek brown skin over hard, tapering muscles, moving smooth and long and languorous. _Merlin fuck_. Breathing carefully, he hunched over an abrupt and painful erection, attempting to mask it by mimicking Mamun’s pose.

At least the blighter had fallen silent now, dark head lowered to study his hands. Draco watched him from the corner of his eye to distract himself. Long fingers interlaced, twisted gently, pushed each other backwards in a gentle stretch. His lips parted as if to speak, then closed. Mamun swallowed audibly, then cleared his throat. Sitting suddenly upright, he turned to Draco and fell silent as if struck.

Still bent over his private pain, elbows carefully on his thighs, Draco stared as the other's face went blank. Mamun’s lips parted again and his tongue flicked out to moisten them absently. His eyes fixed on Draco’s like a mouse faced by a snake, until with a soft moan he leaned over, caught Draco’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

Different as the circumstances were, the results were very much the same as before. Groaning into his mouth, Draco plastered himself against Mamun’s body, one hand on his back, one behind his head. Heat sang through his body, leaving no room for thought, no time for _Wait but he’s a bloke and I've never - and is he even a Pureblood?_ because his body didn’t care.

“Wait, one moment,” Mamun was gasping, extracting a hand to draw his wand between ravenous kisses. Draco tensed, but he only flicked a complicated pattern in the air, murmuring something into Draco’s mouth, and the bushes rustled themselves closer all along the path until they enclosed a round patch of grass so thickly that Hagrid with a machete couldn’t have gotten through inside an hour. Another flick and a sweep and the stone bench they sat on was a futon spreading itself across the grass on which they landed heavily.

“Ow! Oh,” Draco said, as his hips pushed forward against Mamun’s thigh between his legs.

“My God,” Mamun groaned as Draco ground against him. “Oh, my God, what…” His fingers wound into Draco’s hair and tugged. They kissed frantically, distractedly. Mamun's breath caught as Draco’s hand worked between his legs.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Draco chanted against him, sliding down his body to mouth the hardness under those trousers. He wanted it now, wanted to taste it, wanted to feel it against his skin, but he also needed to thrust into something, pound someone until they both screamed, and the two desires seemed to conflict. No matter; the faster they moved, the faster all would be satisfied.

“Oh _God,_ all right! Just a – wait a – mph.” Gasping for breath, Mamun whirled his wand once in the air and they were naked, clothes strewn across the bushes as though thrown there. “Sorry, mm… bit distracted…”

With a hum of triumph, Draco pounced on his prey, sucking the tip into his mouth to taste, licking, stroking all at once to get the feel of it. It was a bit larger than his, but not intimidatingly so, he thought, and the taste wasn't as bad as he'd expected. The muffled swearing and groans at his experimentation amused him until suddenly strong hands pushed him over backwards.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Draco hissed as he slid into Mamun’s mouth. A chuckle deep in the throat vibrated all the way up his spine, and Draco arched and moaned and thrust desperately against the hands holding him still until Mamun swallowed around him and he lost it all in a rush of heat and colored lights.

He lay still for a moment, panting and twitching faintly as Mamun kept toying with things, but not really attending until Mamun knelt up between his legs, staring around. “There’s no nila-tree here, and no archroot. How do I… Mm.” Draco had no idea what he was talking about and didn’t much care, but he rolled onto his stomach obediently when Mamun tugged.

Kisses interspersed with licks and nibbles slid down his spine and Draco wriggled comfortably on the futon. “I’m missing the components you usually need nearby for the spell,” said the husky voice against Draco’s skin, fingers working up the back of his neck and into his hair, which sent pleasant shivers down his back. “So we’re going to have to do this without magic – some of it, anyway.”

 _Do what?_ Draco was about to ask, when Mamun slid down past the base of his spine, hands stroking his arse, then tugged at his hips until he was on his elbows and knees and a bit annoyed at the manhandling.

“ _Purga,_ ” Mamun murmured, tapping Draco’s rear with his wand, and Draco shivered, tingling just _there_. Then Mamun leaned down and his tongue swiped over where the skin was tingling and Draco almost convulsed, utterly astonished that anyone would do that, his hands clawing at the tough fabric of the futon. Mamun laughed quietly, tongue pressing inside, then feathering over the outside in delicate swipes, and Draco twisted and groaned, language temporarily lost.

Ten minutes later he was no longer certain the loss was temporary. Muscles dissolved to a twitching mass of impulses, he lay quivering under Mamun’s merciless teasing, trying to make demands and unable to manage more than moaned vowels.

After another eternity, Mamun mumbled against the small of his back another spell he didn’t recognize and said hoarsely, “Are you ready?”

Twisting, Draco took a deep breath and hissed, “ _Yesss!_ ”

When something pushed into him, hard and slick and hot and rather too big, he belatedly realized that he should have said, “For what?” Breath caught behind his teeth, Draco twisted against the pressure, waiting with set jaw for it to ease.

Mamun thrust fully into him and Draco grunted softly, braced against the motion. It hurt rather more than he would have expected if he'd ever thought about this at all, but it wasn't as though he was experienced, and the pain wasn’t unbearable, so he pushed back against Mamun, hips twisting restlessly. The slow movement that began was maddening, because while part of Draco was uneasy about all this, his body was convinced that he was only barely missing something important, and it needed to happen now… now… _now…_

Hands on his hips pulled him up a little farther as Mamun drove in again, changing the angle, and Draco choked off a yell as he hit something that sent pleasure shocking along every nerve.

“Yeah,” he gasped, “like that, do that – _mmmph!_ ” He was going to have to find a way to keep quiet, because if anyone else walked outside, they were going to hear someone screaming in pleasure in the garden and recognize his voice. Even if no one could reach the spot, a Malfoy had better things to do than give prurient amusement to passersby.

Cutting off a steady stream of low-voiced moans and swearing, Draco sank his teeth into his forearm just in time to muffle the next howl.

“God, Malfoy,” Mamun gasped behind him, fingers digging into his hips as he thrust faster. “You’re so _loud_... Mm, feel so good…”

And whose fault was _that_ , Draco would’ve liked to inquire of the smug bastard, except that he was busy setting tooth marks into his arm and writhing under the onslaught of sensation. Mamun sped up again, one hand reached around Draco’s hip to wrap around him and stroke hard, a little out of synch with his rhythm, but Draco hardly cared because he was yelling into his arm, slamming back into the strong slender body behind him as the hard tide of pleasure ripped through him, shaking him to bonelessness.

Mamun grabbed both hips again and drove in with renewed vigor for a few minutes before he stiffened and clutched Draco hard, gasping as he shook. “Oh… _God…_ Malfoy…” Several deep, heaving breaths passed before he carefully pulled out and dropped like a stone on the futon beside Draco.

For the first time since Advanced Charms, Draco was free of desire. His mind was entirely blank at first, which was pleasant. When the drifting warmth obscuring his thoughts began to clear, he tried to focus on something other than the way his stomach was twisting, his breathing beginning to shorten and catch in his throat. Was it half his homework he still had left to do, or more like a third? It wasn’t going to do itself; he would have to get back to that shortly. The sky was getting darker, the bird chatter of sunset beginning to fall silent with the approaching night -

_What was happening to him?_

Beside him, Mamun pulled in a long, hissing breath, then sat bolt upright. Draco jerked away onto his knees, sparing one desperate glance around for his clothes, his wand, before fixing his eyes warily on the other's face.

Mamun looked at him. "We just had sex," he said flatly. Draco flinched, feeling the crazy desire to deny it, deny this entire mad situation existed. The knots in his stomach clenched tighter with every unsteady breath. "I was here just last night and nothing strange happened, so I can only think it's you, Malfoy. Do you have an explanation?"

That question hadn't gone well the first time, and here it was again already. Draco just shook his head and a different pair of brown eyes narrowed. "What exactly were you studying out here?"

By now it shouldn't have been a surprise, but Draco couldn't help staring at him. "You honestly think I wanted this, did it on purpose. You just - you - " He felt his face twist and wrenched away, turning his back as he struggled for control. "You just _fucked_ me," he spat, breathing hard, "and you think that I - I _wanted_ \- " He had to stop, eyes squeezing closed as he tried to keep his breath from hitching.

"No. All right, no, I didn't mean - I'm sorry. Malfoy - Draco. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said savagely.

"Yes, I can see that," Mamun muttered. "Ah, had you - done that before?"

One reluctant headshake, more of a twitch to the side and back. Mamun said something low and fierce in another language. "God. And you're so young, anyway - How old, again?"

"I am not that young. Eighteen." The irritation helped, steadying him.

"Far younger than I prefer." He sighed. "You see, I had thought, depending on what you were studying, there was some chance of a charm going awry. Combining with something in an unexpected manner - were you working on any charms?"

"No. Grounding in charms theory, bloodroot as a stabilizing agent, and the Lesser Tangler-Oak's root system." He grudgingly looked back, refusing to let go of the anger entirely. It made a comforting warmth above the cold tension in his gut.

Fingers carding through his short hair, Mamun gave him a troubled look. "Well, if you have no more idea than I have, I think we had best proceed to the infirmary. If nothing else, Ben can assure that I did not... damage anything."

Leaning away from him, Draco shook his head. "No. Oh, no, I'm not going back there now, you can go by - " He stopped short. If Mamun went, even by himself, to get checked over, Summers would know that it had happened again. He had been terrifying enough the first time, when it was only some aborted snogging.

"Draco, don't be a fool, Ben should look at you, and he might be able to tell us what happened."

"I already know what he thinks happened!" He was up on his knees, yelling in Mamun's face. "He thinks I'm - that I'm doing this on purpose! He thinks just because I, I want it, this is my fault!" His eyes were stinging, so he closed them. Curling in on himself, he swallowed with some difficulty, waiting for the trembling in his stomach to go away.

There was a brief silence. "Are you saying this has happened before?" Mamun's voice was very even.

He took a hard breath. "No, not - only a little bit. Earlier, in class. We were, some girl was snogging me. He assumed I made her do it, but I don't even like her."

"How in the name of all that's precious did he think you would make her do that? By what possible means?"

"Wandless Sex Magic, apparently," Draco said bitterly.

"That is utterly ridiculous. There is no way an eighteen-year-old could manage the sort of focused intention required for that level of wandless magic, to say nothing of you knowing the first hint about Sex Magic."

Draco did find the complete lack of doubt in his voice comforting, but it didn't seem terribly likely that an auror-trainee would be able to change Summers' mind.

Mamun was frowning. "So why on earth did he assume - " Eyes narrowing, he cut himself off. “That’s it, isn't it?” He reached out and touched the underside of Draco’s left forearm. Draco barely kept from jerking it away instinctively. One finger slid from his wrist up over the dull grey scar of skull and snake without a qualm at the contact and Draco twitched. He could barely stand to touch it himself most days, and it was unnerving to have someone be so casual about it. “This is the reason all the locals go after you, given half a chance. They clearly think Gallagher doesn't know his business, letting some sort of spy into the school. Idiots. So Ben is one of their number? I thought he had more sense. Is he really assuming that because you worked for an evil man and Sex Magic is illegal, you must know Sex Magic?"

"I don't know what he thinks," Draco growled. "He thinks this is my fault and he wants to send me to Azkaban. I'm not going to him for help."

Mamun stared at him for a moment before saying, "And if this happens again?"

"We don't know that it will. Maybe it's run its course."

Thin-lipped, Mamun stood up. "'Maybe?' I thought better of you, Malfoy. You are being a short-sighted, self-absorbed ass. Even if you have no concern for me - because no offense, but I would never willingly have slept with you - you might have a care for the other people at this school. How many students - how many _professors_ \- will you wait to have intimate encounters with before you get over yourself and behave like an adult?"

Speechless, Draco gaped at him. " _P-professors?_ "

"Yes, professors! What makes you think there's any limit to whatever this is? If it can draw in both me and your classmate, why shouldn't it affect your first professor tomorrow morning?" He picked up his wand from where he’d set it in the grass beside the futon and flicked it once at himself, then at Draco, who found his skin cleaned of the drying sweat and other stickiness he’d been avoiding thinking about. Another sweep of the wand and his clothes landed in a messy pile on the futon beside him, tangled with leafy twigs from the bushes they’d been draped across.

Mamun was already half-dressed, glaring at nothing as his own clothing slid onto his long limbs. Draco fished in the sleeve of his robe for his wand and began to dress himself, pointing at each garment in turn. It wasn't as fast as whatever spell Mamun had used, but it was certainly faster than struggling into all those laces and clasps would’ve been without the aid of magic.

Fully dressed and looking determined, Mamun took a breath and Draco hurried to cut him off before he could speak. "I really think the curse or whatever it is is done. I haven't felt it since we - " one hand waved at the futon, "and I'd - it'd been hanging on all afternoon. It didn't go away after the girl, but it's gone now." He didn't know what had caused it, he didn't want to think about what had stopped it, but if it could just be over he could put this entire day behind him and forget it had ever happened. Draco's powers of self-deception were quite well-developed enough for that.

"You think. But you cannot know, not for sure. And that is _dangerous_. I realize you're not a trainee, but we learn that you have to have some idea what you're dealing with before you can possibly handle it effectively. You haven't the faintest notion what you're dealing with or how it works. And you won't find out unless you get looked at. So come on, let's go."

He opened his mouth to argue and Mamun shot him a look so cold it was shocking on his friendly face. "Let me clarify. Given the possible consequences if you refuse to be responsible, I am prepared to make you. I don't want to, but I won't risk anyone else going through this."

"He wants... to put me... in Azkaban," Draco said, perhaps slowly enough to get through this time.

Mamun rolled his eyes at the sky, now almost fully dark. "He'll have to go through me first. Look, just come get this sorted and I'll stand up for you, all right?" He transfigured the futon back into a stone bench with a single flick and murmur and turned to walk out of the little clearing. The bushes hurriedly rearranged themselves on either side of the path as he approached.

Draco stared after him for a moment, then summoned his homework and hurried after him. "Are you actually going to argue for me?"

"I'll be perfectly happy to point out the obvious, yes, but I don't expect there to be much arguing."

Draco kept his doubts about that to himself.

\------

As foreseen, Summers was not pleased. Lingering in the doorway, Draco would've found Mamun's bewilderment over Summers' attitude endearing if he weren't so busy watching out for sudden hexes.

“Ben, he’s eighteen! The sort of thing you're accusing him of is far too complex for someone that young to pull off. The focus alone required for that level of wandless magic - " He shook his head. "I understand some initial suspicion, but this is ludicrous. And in any case - " he raised his voice over the hot rejoinder Summers began, "whether or not you like him, you need to look at us both to see if we're safe now. We need a diagnosis. Please, Ben.” His voice dropped. "I'd... really like to know what happened."

"Ah, Merlin," Summers muttered, "I'm sorry. Are - Bas, are you all right?"

Mamun gave him a small smile and shrugged. "I'll be fine. Worse could have happened. For that matter, I rather think Malfoy got the worse end of it. I... I didn't think to... Well, thinking wasn't much involved, was it. If it had been, I wouldn't have chosen that particular, ah, act, over something less um, involved."

Summers grimaced, rubbed both hands over his face, and turned to Draco. "All right, Mr. Malfoy - for heavens' sake, come in and stop loitering in the hall. I'll need to do some tests, but first, how do you feel? Any soreness, chafing, discomfort?"

Face heating, Draco glared. He wasn't sore, exactly, it was just that he could feel where Mamun had been. It wasn't discomfort so much as a disquieting awareness of a part of his body he normally didn't give a thought. He wasn't about to say any of that out loud. "No."

Summers gave him a look. "Hm. I'll give you something before you go, just to be sure. Now, come over here and stand by Bas. We'll dispense with the easy part first.” Murmuring in a rapid undertone, he pointed his wand at Mamun. When Draco came over, the wand swept across to him and he braced himself.

He was familiar with the first spell and the odd prickling sensation passing through him as it was cast. Summers nodded, but didn’t explain what this had shown him before casting another, and another. By the last one he was frowning, and Draco was getting edgy.

“Less than helpful,” Summers mumbled, chewing on his lip. "Well, on your side, Bas, there are no detectable traces left and no sign of continued effect. You should be completely safe now.”

"No traces? But then - well, what about Malfoy?"

Summers sighed. “In much in the same way as Miss Brocklehurst, earlier today, I've found no signs so far. Neither of you seem to have been jinxed or hexed, I can’t detect any trace of an active curse or spell, and you don’t seem to have ingested or touched any strange potions in the last several days.”

"But that - wait, does that mean it's gone, whatever it was?" Draco said.

"Not necessarily. No trace of an _active_ curse or spell doesn't mean there isn't one present that's currently inactive. Let me see. How much would you say you're affected at the moment? The persistent arousal you've experienced today,” he enlarged at Draco's blank look.

"I'm not," he said shortly.

"He said it went away just after our encounter in the garden," Mamun put in.

“Hm. So when you finally satisfied that desire, it went away?”

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. “I… No. It… I’d satisfied it before." He cleared his throat, refusing to make excuses or explain himself any further than necessary. "Just not with…” _any help_ “a partner.”

“Ah.” Summers was thinking, his gaze intent on the distance. “Interesting. Once you had a partner, the need was fulfilled. That reminds me of something… You come from a pureblood family, after all. Some of these old families have very peculiar traditions... Especially those with leanings towards Dark magic." Draco bristled automatically, but privately admitted that in general, this was not entirely untrue. "But. For the moment, before we move on to the next set of diagnostics, I've a few questions on how it felt when you were both first affected." He flicked his wand at a desk across the room and a quill quivered to life and began taking notes as he asked them questions like, “When you first felt the effects of the spell, did you taste strawberries?” “Was the air suddenly bright?” “Did your nose itch?” “Did you feel an abrupt urge to recite nursery rhymes?” Most of the answers were in the negative.

Finally he sighed and waved his wand at the quill again and it skittered to a halt. "Right," he said, rubbing between his brows, "next step."

Draco crossed his arms, shifted his weight and looked dourly back at the pile of homework on the table by the door. No matter what time he left here, he would still have to do it all tonight.

Summers had turned away to look through his cupboards. “Mugwort,” he muttered to himself as the jars and tins paraded in turn across the front of their shelves. “White Asafetida, Old Man’s Beard, where’s the Juniper, dammit… What did I do with the Cinchroot bark? Oh yes. Lacewing eggs, doxie dust… All right.” As a selection of items soared through the air to land neatly on the table beside him, he turned back to the two spectators. "Let's see if this is any more conclusive."

He took a pinch of something that crunched drily from one of the jars behind him, circled his wand over it and tossed it over Draco, who sputtered indignantly and tried to get the dusty taste out of his mouth. Then he did the same to Mamun. “This is a bit more in-depth than the plain verbal spells,” he explained to his respectively irritated and startled subjects. “If there’s even the faintest trace of power that’s not yours, this will let me know.”

Draco resigned himself to having dried debris thrown in his face, which was fortunate, because a pinch of something else and a small palmful from a third jar rapidly followed. Eyes tightly closed, Draco breathed through his nose and reminded himself that he needed Summers' help, and displaying proficiency in a simple peeling charm using the example of, say, his fingers would be thoroughly counterproductive, however tempting. The fantasy was a comfort, though.

By the time he blinked the dust out of his eyes, Summers was watching something move gradually across his and Mamun's bodies, eyes flicking back and forth from one to the other. “It’s glowing,” he said quietly. “You can watch it.”

Draco glanced down and saw a thin band of faint light just slipping down his chest. It moved about a centimeter every two seconds, but there was something strangely gripping about the sight. Hypnotized, Draco watched its slow progress down his ribs, over his stomach, past his hips – and when the glow moved on down his thighs, a faint, pulsing light stayed behind at his groin. He looked over at Mamun, whose glow was in two tidy rings sliding down his legs, no dropped crumbs of light behind it. Summers wore a small, pleased smile as the spell continued its slow track down Draco’s legs without further interruption.

“So Malfoy's glowing and I'm not. What does that mean?” Mamun asked.

“It means you at least are not contaminated by whatever this spell is. There _is_ a spell and it's still on Mr. Malfoy. As you can see by the glow, the traces are very faint. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s gone into dormancy."

Mamun frowned. "So - will it come back?"

Draco stared at Summers, feeling his stomach twist. He'd been depending on this thing being gone so he wouldn't have to think about it again. If it had only gone dormant, he could never relax, he'd always be on guard for the moment it might wake again.

"I don't know," Summers said, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. "Perhaps further tests will clarify the situation. In any case, since you're clean, Bas, you're free to go. Unless you want to stay, I suppose, but I know you've work to be getting on with."

Mamun glanced back at the clock over the door and winced. "It is late, I should get back to work. If - Is that all right?” he said to Draco. “Ben, you do agree he can't be blamed for this now?”

Summers snorted. "Yes, yes, I have no idea how any student would manage something like this, so you're in the clear, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco nodded stiffly and looked at Mamun. "I appreciate your... accompanying me." _Your keeping me from being hexed and hauled away without a trial._

"Happy to assist," Mamun said with a wry smile. "Ben - look after him, hey? It's been a rough day."

Looking straight ahead of him, Draco swallowed carefully as the quick footsteps crossed the room behind him, passed through the door and faded down the hallway. These days, he wasn't used to having anyone willing to stand at his side, far less show open sympathy for him. After everything else, that was almost too much. For the third time today, he was forced to blink hard, pretending some bit of leaf dust must have gotten in his eyes.

"So," Summers said, and stopped. He cleared his throat and Draco looked over at him, tensing. Now that Mamun was gone, was he going to change his mind?

"Mr. Malfoy. Ahem... I find I must apologize."

Draco stared at him.

"On reflection, it is clear I allowed my awareness of your background and family - my previous prejudices, that is - to cloud my view, which was unfair and may have put you in danger. If I had listened to your concerns when you originally came in this afternoon, it is possible the subsequent events could have been avoided. So, I am partially to blame for what befell you and Mr. Mamun this evening. If there is any help I can offer besides the obvious, just ask. For instance, should you wish to talk about... anything, I would be happy to listen." From the look on his face and the stiffness of his tone, "happy" in this context was purely a figure of speech. Even if he'd sounded genuinely delighted, the thought of trying to talk to Summers about "anything" left Draco torn between hysterical laughter and queasiness.

What in Merlin's name was the correct way for a Malfoy to respond to such a speech? He couldn't just turn and stalk from the infirmary, not when he still needed help.

"Your apology is accepted," he managed coolly after a moment, and hastily changed the subject. "About this spell. Is there any chance it isn't just dormant but inactive?"

Summers arched a thoughtful eyebrow. “Counteracted, you mean? I don’t think so. There’s usually a certain signature on a piece of magic that’s been successfully countered, and the traces would have faded even further by now. On the other hand, because we can’t determine what it was originally meant to do, we can’t predict its behavior, so for all we know it’s going to stay dormant for a week and then turn you into a pink canary.”

Draco gave him a cold look, not appreciating the deadpan suggestion. "Isn't it obvious what it's meant to do? I'm supposed to shag people, apparently."

"Well, yes and no. Whatever spell is on you has had that effect thus far, granted, but that still leaves questions open. For instance, is the drive for just sex or procreation? Since it wasn’t content with your attempts at self-sufficiency, I would have assumed procreation – except that there doesn’t seem to be a gender component, which is a fairly vital piece.”

Draco frowned. “Unless it requires a partner for some reason besides to produce an heir. Or if the caster messed up the spell, I suppose.”

Summers gave him a brief, approving nod and tapped his fingertips together, thinking. “Yes, it could be poorly designed or the casting might have been flawed. The problem with theory is that it assumes a perfectly executed spell to detect. I’m afraid that unless the other analyses come up with more information, we’re going to be confined to guesswork and observation.”

Draco closed his eyes and nodded tightly.

Over the next hour, Summers threw, sprinkled and dusted various substances over Draco, recited spells to make them itch, shimmer and once faintly burn, (he had warned Draco ahead of time, so Draco did him the courtesy of not casting _Stupefy_ or anything more painful), and finally persuaded a small blue-green beetle out of its jarred habitat to crawl up Draco’s leg and side, down one arm, up his other arm, over his head and down his other side. It returned to its bottle huffily, with much scratchy rustling of wings.

Summers scratched his head, frowning. In the corner the quill scribbled away on its parchment.

“Well?” Draco said finally.

“The good news is, your life isn’t in danger,” Summers sighed. “The bad news is that with the spell dormant, the traces are so faint I can hardly tell anything about it. I can’t tell how long ago it was cast, how near you the caster was at the time, whether it’s a verbal spell or something potion-based… " He shook his head. "Let me think about this. It seems to affect the people in your periphery – it didn’t begin for Mr. Mamun until he sat down beside you, and Miss Brocklehurst was your dueling partner. So distance is a component in how it affects the secondary subjects…” For a moment there was only the sound of the quill scritching quietly across the parchment and Summers mumbling further notes to himself, eyes distant under knitted brows. Then he shook himself and looked at Draco.

"You should be safe to be around people for the moment. As long as the spell remains in dormancy, there's no danger, and judging by your descriptions from today, if it becomes active again you have plenty of time to react before it affects anyone else. Miss Brocklehurst didn't react until you embraced her, and you said you'd been experiencing the arousal for some time before that. And similarly, there was a grace period with Mr. Mamun before the compulsion kicked in."

"Much briefer," Draco pointed out. "He did sit down right next to me, but it was only a few minutes before he - " he waved an explanatory hand.

"Yes," Summers said. "With proximity comes an increased danger of the spell taking control -but the arousal is the first warning sign, and in both cases started well beforehand. So, it seems to me the best way to proceed is if that feeling of desire returns, come in to the infirmary immediately.”

"Ah - what if it's not spell related?"

"Then I'll determine that fairly quickly and you'll be free to go," Summers said in a dry tone. "I understand that a young man has needs, whether or not he's bespelled, but given the risks to which this spell exposes you and every person around you - potentially every person in this school - it would be irresponsible not to pay serious attention to the one warning we've identified so far."

Draco gave this a grudging nod.

"If the feeling doesn't return - the spell-related feeling," Summers clarified with a hint of amusement that made Draco glower at him, "in a week, go ahead and come in anyway and I'll test to see if the traces have dissipated on their own. If the spell was badly-cast, that is possible." Clearing up, he flicked his wand at the bottles and jars scattered over the table and they shot back into their cupboards, several of them nearly overturning in their haste. "Let's hope for that outcome, shall we?"

One sweep of the wand over Draco removed the crumbled remnants of the various ingredients Summers had thrown at him, and then the mediwizard went scrabbling through a different cupboard, saying "Oh, and I nearly forgot - Here." He presented Draco with a small vial of pearly liquid. "This should take care of any minor damage you may not have noticed - muscle soreness, bruising, etc."

Draco did his best not to react, but he could feel his face heat again as he took and drank the stuff. All sorts of little discomforts vanished in a series of tingles, and the unnerving awareness of parts of his anatomy dwindled abruptly, to his relief.

With a farewell as brief as reluctant courtesy allowed, he floated his books and things after him and headed for his room. Halfway there, he paused to curse. He’d forgotten to get Summers to give him notes for the teachers to excuse not getting his homework back on time tomorrow. It was going to be a very late night.


	2. In Which Things Intensify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the curse activates again, things do not go as planned. Draco is not happy and Harry Potter just can't seem to leave him to himself.

Prying himself out of bed the next morning was exactly as much fun as he’d expected, and Draco barely restrained himself from breaking the mirror when it made a comment about the state of his hair.

“Dear me!” it said at his snarl. “There’s no need for that kind of language! That sort of face won’t win you _any_ friends.”

“Shut up,” Draco told it, enunciating very clearly through the yawn that tried to break his jaw. Then he fixed his hair, scoured his mouth clean of the disgusting film that some evil-minded wretch had spirited over his teeth in the last two hours, and dressed for breakfast.

As expected, Transfiguration did not go well, in part because he had forgotten to practice the exercise before class, (had barely had time to eat before class, actually), and partly because exhaustion made him so off-balance that not only did he fail to turn his lump of rock into an armchair, he very nearly set his own chair on fire.

“More practice, I think, Mr. Malfoy,” said the instructor crisply as he turned Draco’s chair to rock and back again – a very showy way to quench a simple fire, Draco thought. “And if I don’t see a significant improvement by next class, I’m going to assign Miss Granger to tutor you – she seems to have an excellent knack for it.”

With that for motivation, half an hour later he’d managed to give his rock four legs, a back of sorts, and a fairly flat seat that Professor Gibson looked at dubiously when he came back around.

“Fossilized wood,” he said slowly. “Very… original, Mr. Malfoy. Halfway between wood and stone. Did you do that on purpose?”

“No, sir,” Draco said irritably.

“Hmm. It’s actually fairly aesthetic. Well enough, that is an improvement; at least it’s chair-like. I won’t require tutoring just yet, Mr. Malfoy, but don’t forget your practice. You’re nowhere near N.E.W.T standard.”

If Transfiguration went badly, Herbology was hell. Despite having stared at the blasted book for an hour the night before, Draco couldn’t remember the three distinctive features of a ripe Kurm-nut, which meant that he garnered several deep gouges across the wrists from the irritably lashing bush when he went to harvest the wrong ones. Across the grove, Professor Caradoc was praising Longbottom to the skies for the double-handful he’d already gleaned, and Miss Cleverbritches-Mudblood was doing almost as well working with the bloody Weasel. Finnegan seemed to be working with Brocklehurst, Draco’s erstwhile sparring partner, who wasn’t talking much today, and Potter kept glancing over at them. Whatever was distracting him, it slowed him down almost to Draco’s pace, which was the only comfort available.

“I do wish you would focus, Mr. Potter,” Professor Caradoc sighed at the end of class. “Your take was rather less than expected, but at least you understood the principle of the thing. Unlike some.” He looked over at Draco, who was trying with sleep-deprived fogginess to decide if it was worth the risk to try healing the oozing cuts on his arms when he’d never been any good at healing to begin with.

“Not impressive, is it?” Professor Caradoc said quietly of Draco’s harvest and injuries combined. Of all the teachers at Gallagher’s, he was possibly Draco’s least favorite, despite the occasional passing resemblance to the late Professor Snape. His chilly stare was especially reminiscent, though Snape's had rarely been directed at the Malfoy scion. _How pathetic,_ the look seemed to say. _Should I pity it, or put it out of its misery?_

“I trust you will pay better attention to your studies next time.” His wand swept over Draco’s arms, sealing the cuts – but leaving the scabs unhealed and painful. “Perhaps this will help your memory improve.”

“I don’t like him,” the Abbott girl murmured to someone behind Draco as they streamed out of the botanical area and through the ordinary gardens. “That was a bit creepy, don’t you think?”

“ – deserves whatever he gets, _I_ think,” someone said back, and Draco ignored them all. If the first half of the day had been this bad, he didn’t even want to think about Potions. Lunch came first. He got inside with the rest of the class and headed towards the dining rooms like a disobedient house elf for the nearest painful object, without any thought but to follow the irresistible pull.

“Malfoy!” came a girl’s voice behind him, and he did not have the energy for this. “Malfoy – Draco!”

Startled, Draco turned to see Potter’s bloody clever Mudblood friend brushing past the other students to hurry towards him. “What, Mudblood?” he snapped, off-balance and bewildered.

Her face cooled and closed down to impassivity, and she brushed past him as if he’d vanished, or suddenly turned into an ant. Head of every class, Draco abruptly realized through the haze of exhaustion, probably meant she knew how to heal. Going to the infirmary would make him miss lunch, but if he was civil, there was a chance she might agree to help if he asked. Potter and his friends were do-gooder types, after all. His sliced wrists throbbed dully.

“Granger!” he said. “What is it, Granger?”

Her step hitched in surprise for a moment, but then moved on.

Malfoy instincts and pride revolted, but Draco quashed them ruthlessly. _We did not win the war. It behooves the losers to show some grace – at least when it might get us something..._

"Granger! It was force of habit,” he called, and in a lower voice, “I’m. S-sorry.“

She stopped. Turned around. Looked at him, head cocked in consideration, and nodded shortly. “Right, then. If there will be no more childish name-calling…” She walked briskly back and reached for his arm, rolling her eyes as he pulled it away automatically. "Are you going to do something about those cuts yourself? Because I don't recall you getting high marks on healing charms."

He had really expected to have to ask first, at least. At sea, he offered his right forearm. She took it in a businesslike way and traced her wand across the cuts, not even bothering to speak the charm aloud, although she was humming under her breath. Draco was weirdly reminded of the hallucinatory moment in sixth year when Professor Snape had mended his curse-wounds nearly single-handedly, singing the spell over Draco as he sprawled semi-conscious in a pool of blood and water, Potter on his knees nearby. But his vision wasn’t flickering now, and this was strangely reversed – a professor having inflicted the wounds, and Potter’s friend the one to fix them… Draco squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked, trying to wake himself from the half-trance he'd fallen into.

Granger healed his left arm just as efficiently. Draco flexed his wrists carefully and was relieved to feel them painless. Carefully, he nodded his gratitude.

“You may be arrogant and bigoted,” she said, holding his gaze with narrowed eyes, “but it’s a teacher’s duty to ignore all that. No matter who the student is, or what he may have been. It was disgraceful for him to forget himself that way.”

Draco snorted, amused despite the insults. “He didn’t forget himself in the least,” he told her. “Not everyone ascribes to your high-minded philosophies, Granger; some people think in terms of power. Whoever has it, can use it however they wish.”

“And we all know how well power-hungry maniacs generally come out in the end,” Potter said behind him, and Draco was too tired even to jump. “C’mon, Hermione, let’s get to lunch.”

“Good on you,” Draco heard him say as they moved off down the hall.

“What,” exclaimed the Weasel, “for healing Ferret-face? What a waste of a charm! Hermione, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that it’s an abominable way for a professor to treat a student, Ron,” she retorted, and Draco leaned against a wall to let them get well ahead of him and lost the rest of the conversation, much to his relief.

Perhaps he should have taken note when he found his eyes idly tracking Potter’s arse as it receded, but it was nothing unusual, so he barely even noticed. Foggy with fatigue, he didn’t think twice about the faint, familiar warmth creeping through his body during lunch, or the odd way the Auror-trainees across the table started glancing at him at breaks in their conversation. He didn’t notice the small pocket of silence that exploded around him when he stood up at the end of the meal and absently stretched his neck, head bending to one side, then the other, eyes closed.

After lunch he drifted into the corridors along with everyone else. Potions wasn’t for several hours yet and Draco thought he might attempt to get some homework done early – or possibly take a nap. Or maybe he could wank off a bit, although there was something wrong with that -

He tried to remember what he was just thinking, but he was distracted because he kept bumping into people, and they were knocking into him as well. Moving through the crowd was oddly difficult today, as if it was tighter-packed than usual. Had the whole school stepped into the halls at the same moment, or were people just particularly rude and clumsy today?

Someone lurched up against him, pushing him sideways, and Draco half-fell against a vaguely familiar Auror-trainee who shoved him away with a disgusted look. Hands flailing to keep from falling, Draco caught a hard shoulder and steadied himself, glaring at the trainee as she vanished into the crowd.

“Who’s that – what the – Get the hell off me, Malfoy!” snapped Seamus Finnegan, jerking his shoulder away from Draco’s hand. His glower changed to a dazed stare and he stood there for a moment before stepping up against Draco, grinding into him, hands suddenly fumbling over Draco’s hips and around to his arse.

The growing sense of vague alarm suddenly coalesced and Draco remembered why the need to wank was a problem right now. He had time for one brief, despairing thought of _Merlin, not him!_ before the spell flared into full life and he was pressed against Finnegan just as fervently, pulling him closer.

Groaning as one roaming hand found his sudden erection, Draco was disoriented until he realized why there were more hands touching him than Finnegan possessed. Someone pressed up against his side, nipping at his ear, and then a third, taller person grabbed them all and pushed them across the corridor into an empty classroom, mumbling something confused about not shagging in the hallway. By the time the door closed behind them Draco had no idea how many people were in the room. It wasn't as though he was spending time gazing around; his attention was occupied.

Someone flicked a wand and Draco’s clothes were gone. A girl’s breasts pushed up against his face and he nuzzled them as best he could with someone pulling at him to get between his legs. So many hands were on him that he couldn’t keep track, stroking him harder, clawing and tugging at him until he caught his breath on a yelp. They all wanted him, but they would pull him apart if they weren’t careful, and the most disturbing part was that Draco couldn't care.

“God,” said a thick voice with Finnegan’s lilt, “what is this – Malfoy, what did you do?”

On his other side, large warm hands suddenly faltered. “Malfoy?” said a confused voice, and even half-drowned in the spell Draco felt a brief stab of enmity. “Oh, Merlin fuck me,” said the same voice a bit farther away, and Draco pried his eyes open to see the Weasel backing off with an expression of horrified disbelief. “I just – I don’t even – Sodding hell,” he choked, and fled, slamming the door behind him.

His departure went unnoticed. Behind Draco someone kicked his legs apart, beside him Finnegan’s arms were holding him upright, and plastered against his front, the girl was playing with his nipples. His own hands barely knew where to rest, one stroking her breast, one sliding down to rub Finnegan through his pants, then grabbing behind him in an attempt to touch whoever the other bloke was.

“Mm, yeah,” sighed the girl as he ducked to nuzzle a nipple through her shirt, “get this out of the way – ” She had to be an Auror-trainee, because she made the clothes-vanishing spell look effortless, and she’d worked it on all three of Draco’s companions at once. Eagerly, Draco played his tongue over her breasts and she moaned aloud, but he was distracted by the nudge of an erection against his arse, and then Finnegan grabbed between Draco’s legs and started to stroke and he lost his concentration entirely.

“Fuck,” murmured a voice behind him, “we need something – ”

“Here,” the girl said, and Summoned a bottle she handed the bloke over Draco’s shoulder. “Professor Ruley always complains about her dry hands, she keeps it in the desk here.”

“Merlin’s bollocks, don’t tell her why we know,” he muttered, and Draco jumped as something cold and slick nudged his arse.

“God,” Finnegan mumbled against his shoulder, his hips thrusting against Draco’s thigh as his hand kept stroking, now faster, now slow, distracted. “I need…”

Draco groaned aloud as a cool finger slid smoothly into him, arching his back and clinging to Finnegan to stay on his feet. “Oh _fuck_ ,” said the Irish boy urgently. “Please, I’ve got to – ”

“Fine, just both of you wait half a mo,” the Auror-girl said firmly, and Draco heard wood creak beside him as it was Transfigured, then the shush and slide of skin on fabric. “Give him here.”

He opened his eyes to see her spread naked across a small divan where two chairs had been, her lips kissed red, dark hair flung above her, legs parted and waiting for him. A second later he was sprawling over her, pushed down by hasty hands as Finnegan moved behind him.

From the other bloke, “Wait, what about – ”

“ _Please!_ ” said Finnegan.

“In a minute!” snapped the girl. “Get in me,” she told Draco, guiding him forward as her hips arched up to meet him. She moaned a second later, legs twining tight around him as they started to move together.

“Now,” said an Irish purr, and Draco jolted as something slick and a good deal larger than a finger pushed slowly into him. Shaking, he clutched at the shoulders of the girl under him, who writhed against him making small noises at the back of her throat. The stretching ache took a while to fade back into the overwhelming mix of sensation.

“Fine,” growled the other male voice behind them, and the bloke climbed onto the front of the divan to straddle the girl’s head facing Draco and grabbed his face. “Here,” he said, and pushed into Draco’s mouth.

Even in his spell-addled state Draco's breathing shortened in anxiety, but aside from not knowing what to do in the least, it turned out to be tolerable. Breathing was difficult but not impossible, and Draco didn’t have the attention to worry about it anyway, because he was deep in wet heat, sliding deeper then out, then deep again, with someone long and hard pushing into him from behind, all of them moving chaotically, rhythms synching together then sliding apart again. The taste in his mouth was strong musk and salt, not pleasant but not bad, and he sucked experimentally as the length stroked carefully in and out between his lips.

The Auror-girl had one hand sliding down between her stomach and Draco's and he could feel her fingers working just above where he fit into her. Finnegan swore behind him when she moaned long and low, her voice hitching as her body shook, tightening around Draco. Draco cried out, half-choked on what was in his mouth, and came so hard his vision whited out.

Coming back to himself was like reaching idly into a pool of water and gradually realizing it was at boiling point. The full gravity of the situation took time to register, and by then it was far too late. In this case, of course, it had been too late since he set foot outside the dining hall.

Finnegan and the other fellow were still going at it on either end of him. He wanted to _Crucio_ them both, rip them into tiny shreds and feed them to hawks. He wanted to curl into a ball so tight no one could see him anymore.

"Merlin," breathed the girl. "What - ?"

His wand was out of reach wherever his clothes had gone, so he raised one shaky hand to the thrusting hip in front of his face and shoved as hard as he could. With a startled yelp, the male trainee swayed backward, necessarily pulling out of his mouth, and Draco dropped his head and panted, jaw aching.

"Merlin on a pike," said the trainee under him, her voice taut, "will you all get _off_ of me!"

"Melody," said the other trainee, sounding dazed as he sat down to one side, "what are we - how - "

"I would be happy to move," Draco said through his teeth, "if this blockhead would get off _me_."

"Yeah?" Finnegan panted behind him. "You think you can cast something like this and then tell me what to do? Forget it, Malfoy - _Oof!"_ Draco hissed in pain as he abruptly pulled out, but took advantage of it to roll off the girl Melody and curl his legs defensively up against him, sitting up gingerly to keep an eye on everyone.

" _I'm_ telling you what to do," Melody said to Finnegan, who was rubbing his stomach resentfully -had she kicked him? Her wand was in one hand and she looked more than ready to use it. "And I said stop and let me up."

"Is that true?" the male trainee said to Draco. He'd been slumped on the other side of the divan with a perturbed expression, but now he straightened, suddenly looking dangerous. "Did you cast something on all of us?"

"No," Draco growled. "I pushed you off me, remember?"

"Come off it, Malfoy, what was that in Defense yesterday, then?" Finnegan said hotly. "Mandy wants your guts for potions ingrediants now, and after this I'm with her all the way."

Naturally, it was at this juncture that the door opened. Adrenaline jerked Draco onto his knees, desperately wishing he was dressed and maybe had his wand in hand, because this was not going to put him in good stead with whatever professor was coming into the classroom –

Merlin's bollocks on toast. It wasn’t a professor.

“Fucking hell,” said Potter. “I can't believe you, Ron!”

"Mate, you've no idea what it was like, I barely made it out!" the Weasel protested, closing the door hastily behind them.

Draco had no idea what they were arguing about and he didn't care. He turned to Melody, who was suddenly fully-dressed, wand held casually in one hand as though she’d forgotten it, eyes narrow on the two younger students. His voice wasn't entirely steady because he'd started shivering. “Kindly give me back my clothes before you Obliviate them.”

"Me too," Finnegan put in. "Clothes, I mean. Actually, feel free to Obliviate me as well. I could use to forget this."

"No one is getting Obliviated who doesn't ask for it," Potter said, wand suddenly in his hand.

Melody cocked her head to one side, considering him. “Harry Potter, right? I hear you were helping round up Death Eaters all last summer. You’re coming back next year, aren’t you?” She waved her wand in a graceful series of sweeps and abruptly everyone was dressed again.

"Yeah, assuming I get my N.E.W.T.s," Potter said, shrugging, and the Weasel snorted and bumped his shoulder.

"Like they're not going to be overjoyed - "

"What was that about Defense class?" the male trainee said loudly, looking to Finnegan. "Did this little bugger enspell us or not?" He wasn't holding his wand yet, but his fingers were twitching.

" _No_ ," Draco said, but the shivering hadn't stopped now that he was dressed, and his voice was easily drowned out by Finnegan's biased explanation of yesterday - what he knew of it.

" - And Harry, you keep giving him the benefit of the doubt, but what's the alternative? He has to have cast it!" Finnegan was red in the face, waving his arms jerkily about.

"Seamus, you don't know that," Potter said evenly. "You don't even know for sure what the spell is for - it looks like it's not doing him much good, either. All right there, Malfoy?"

"F-f-fine," Draco said, glaring. He was trying to stand up, but his knees were shaky and things ached that he'd rather not think about, making movement awkward.

"Only you look like you're about to fall over - Ron, you're being a git. Budge off if you can't be reasonable. Malfoy, did you get to the infirmary yesterday?"

Draco made it to his feet and swayed only slightly. He felt lightheaded and ill, but it grated that his weakness was so evident. It grated almost as much that Potter was protecting him again. "Touching as your concern is, Potter," he said icily, trying to steady his voice, "I am capable of looking after myself, and so in fact, I did. The spell had gone dormant and nothing could be done but wait for it to become active again." He wrapped his arms around himself, his hands so cold he could feel them through his clothes.

"Are you telling me Ben Summers set us up for this?" Melody demanded. "I don't believe it!"

"What spell?" the male trainee said, on his feet on the other side of the divan. He was rather broader than Draco, face pale with red blotches on his cheeks, and his fingers were clenching and loosening in a worrying sort of way. "You botched a spell and Ben couldn't fix it, is that what this is?"

"Look, he did not cast the spell," Potter said, annoyed. "I checked! Besides, he's not good enough to stump Ben. Anyway, since Ben knows all about whatever spell it is, maybe you should go ask him. I mean, you probably ought to all drop by the infirmary, given, ah, what just happened."

Draco didn't particularly feel like moving at all, but he even less wanted to stand here and be grilled, so best to leave while Potter was providing a distraction. Of course, it was unfortunate that the timing made it look like he was following Potter's instructions as he walked stiffly towards the door.

"Oi, where are you - "

"Rupert, for Merlin's sake, forget it," the Auror-girl snapped. "Potter's making sense. Let's just go and get Ben to explain it all - and give me a Morning-after potion," she muttered in a lower tone as Draco opened the door.

He stepped into the empty hallway and shut the door behind him, cutting off the comment Finnegan was making, then stood there a moment. His mind was blank, his knees wanted to buckle, his hands and feet felt numb, he was sweating and shivering at the same time, and he thought for a moment he would be sick. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he knew he wouldn't make it to the infirmary like this.

If he kept standing here, they'd all see him the moment they came through the door. His nausea intensified at the thought. He took a few steps down the hall and had to stop, leaning on the wall as his vision grayed out.

Was this some side effect of the spell, some trap he'd sprung? Was he damaged - dying? One hand over his mouth, he slid down the wall and sat there trying to breathe steadily.

The door opened on Finnegan muttering something, the Weasel answering as they stepped out. They started down the hall the other way, towards the infirmary, and Potter and the Auror-trainees came out. The girl glanced around and hesitated, seeing Draco. Following her glance, Potter frowned, but the male trainee snorted and started after Finnegan.

Melody's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Draco wanted to straighten up and give her a cool look, but he didn't dare move. The black sparkles were all around the edges of his vision and his stomach only wanted the slightest excuse to turn on him.

"You look a bit shocky," she said. "Here." She flipped her wand and a blanket settled over Draco's hunched shoulders. "I should lie down if I were you. It'll wear off faster that way." Then she turned and walked away.

Bewildered, Draco glared at Potter. He wasn't sure if the trainee was serious about lying down helping or if she just wanted him on the floor, and either way, why was Potter lingering?

"Go on, lie down," Potter said, "or at least get your head between your knees. Shock can be nasty if you don't treat it, you know."

"Shock?" Draco rasped.

"Oh. Erm, yeah. You, ah, something bad just happened to you and you're not handling it well. Look, just - " He stepped over and pressed gently on Draco's head, pushing it down until his knees were by his ears. Draco didn't have the strength to resist.

"'Something bad?'" he muttered, incredulous. The shivers were beginning to pass off, so maybe the blanket was helping. "Last year was all considerably worse than _this_."

"Didn't you get, you know, some help with that? Like, over the summer? I mean, your family's rich, you could afford it."

"Afford _what?_ We never spoke of it. Malfoys put such things behind them."

Potter muttered something under his breath and sighed. "Right, well, that's not going to work for you at the moment."

Draco regarded the wooden boards and dark green carpet under him, realizing that the dizziness was gone now and the nausea was lessened. How could anyone help with things that had already happened, he wondered, except with constant applications of Cheering Charms, which he would prefer to avoid.

After another moment he straightened up cautiously. The world held in place, no body parts staged a rebellion, and he thought if he was careful his legs might hold him.

"What are you still doing here, anyway, Potter?"

"Making sure you get to the infirmary all right. Don't want this happening again."

"I don't need your help."

"Whatever, Malfoy. Think you can walk yet?"

"I will be _fine_ withoutyour help _._ "

"I'm not helping you, you git! I'm making sure no one else ends up traumatized by this bloody spell!"

They glared at each other.

"Come on, up you get."

Still glaring, Draco used the wall to carefully lever himself to his feet. His head spun for a moment, but when he took a few slow, deep breaths the dizziness faded again. He tried a step forward and his knees held. "I am perfectly capable of getting to the infirmary on my own. You can sod off now."

"And if you faint halfway there?"

He started down the hallway. "I'm not going to faint, and if I did I would take care of it _on my own_."

Potter only snorted, following half a step behind. Having him practically at Draco's elbow set all the wrong instincts off. Part of him twitched with every step, waiting for a hex or worse from his old nemesis. Part of him was in an ecstasy of loathing that Potter couldn't leave him the hell alone. He kept kicking that part to the back of his mind because sometimes the "ecstasy" seemed to outweigh the "loathing", as though a part of him was viciously pleased to have Potter's attention once again. The interior conflict made him itch.

Since it was clear that he hadn't a chance of getting the blighter to clear off, Draco didn't bother to speak all the way to the infirmary.

He had to pause just outside the closed door when his stomach gave a nasty twist. If his three erstwhile companions were in there, Summers had probably heard plenty from them already, enough to prejudice him against Draco all over again.

Summers was the only chance he had to get this to stop. Draco leaned against the wall, dragging in long, careful breaths. His knees were trying to give again.

"Come on, Malfoy, go in," Potter said. "Look, it's got to be some sort of curse, and no one can blame you for being under a curse."

"You don't pay attention, Potter," Draco said with a contemptuous look. " _Everyone_ can, has, and will blame me for this. It doesn't matter if I'm the one worst inconvenienced by it, I'm an ex-Death Eater. Did you forget? It _must_ be my fault." Turning his back, he shoved the door open and went in, ignoring Potter's response.

Two of the beds by the wall were now screened off, and Finnegan was standing in the middle of the room looking a bit impatient. To Draco's relief, the Weasel was nowhere in evidence.

"Any dizziness? Bitter taste? Yellow tint over your vision?" Summers asked, moving his wand slowly across the top of Finnegan's head.

"No, no, and no, I feel _fine_ , Ben," Finnegan said. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Finnegan, just be careful for the rest of the day. Having your memories altered is no minor matter, there can be notable mental and physical side effects. If you notice - "

"Any dizziness, irritability, or difficulty remembering anything else, I'll come right back in," Finnegan assured him.

"Well enough, then. Scamper off."

Finnegan passed Draco without even bothering to glare. He couldn't have ignored him so totally if he'd still remembered the events of the past hour. Draco was briefly envious.

"See you, Harry," Finnegan said behind him, and the infirmary door closed.

Summers turned and stared past Draco. "Dear Merlin. Mr. Malfoy, and... Mr. Potter. Were you also affected? You'd better come and - "

“Merlin, no! I wasn’t there,” Potter said hastily. Draco wondered for a second if it would have been better or worse if he had been. Then he tried to forget he'd thought it.

“Consider yourself fortunate, then. I'm afraid unless it's urgent, you'll have to wait until I'm finished with - "

"No, it's fine, I don't need anything," Potter explained. "I was just escorting Malfoy. He's a bit in shock."

"I see. I was unaware you were a friend to Mr. Malfoy," Summers said, looking quizzical.

"He's _not,_ " Draco said, coinciding with Potter's "Not really".

"Ah." Summers kept his face straight, but his eyes were amused. "That was kind of you, Mr. Potter. If there's nothing else, you're free to go."

"I'd like to stay, if that's all right. I want to know what's going on."

"Hm. If you sit by the door and don't invade my patients' privacy, I'll tell you what we discover so far as it applies to you."

Potter nodded and plopped into a nearby chair. Draco noticed the infirmary clock on the wall behind him, which had faces for the hour, the temperature, and the health of whomever was nearest it. The hands moved until they pointed to ‘Fatigued’ and ‘Energetic’. Possibly it would take a mediwizard to understand that diagnosis.

"Well, come and sit down, Mr. Malfoy." Summers showed Draco to another bed by the wall and flicked his wand so screens appeared around it. "I should tell you there's a soundproofing spell up now, so no one else in the room can hear us. Are you in any discomfort?"

Draco's lips tightened and his shoulders twitched in an irritable shrug. He refused to discuss why he didn't plan to sit down, although the bed looked softer than the hall floor had been, at least.

"Yes, all right. One moment." Summers murmured a spell quickly so the words ran together, his wand sweeping through a series of curves. His frown eased. "You'll be pleased to hear there's only minimal damage - bruising, strain, no bleeding. This should take care of it." Three waves of his wand and Draco wobbled on his feet as the ache he'd been trying to ignore went away. His knees gave and he sat abruptly on the bed.

"Better? Anything else?"

"I feel disgusting," Draco muttered. "I want a bath." His self-control was fraying badly, his throat tightening so he had to swallow before speaking. This was becoming a reprehensible habit. He shut off the thought of what his father would say.

"I can get you a damp cloth and some privacy. Will that do?"

It would. Summers stepped out so Draco could open his clothes just enough to scrub fiercely back and between his legs, dropping the cloth when he was done because he didn't want to touch it anymore.

After a moment, a gentle knock came on the outside of the screen and Draco waved Summers back in. He vanished the cloth from the floor and fixed Draco with a look.

"Mr. Malfoy, we had a plan. What, exactly, went wrong?"

"It was different, this time." Weariness swept over him and the bed looked inviting, suddenly.

Summers waited patiently.

"I was at lunch. I started... feeling it... at the end of lunch, I guess, and then there was such a crowd of people in the halls, all knocking into me, and I couldn't get through them. Finnegan grabbed me - we were in that classroom before I knew what was happening. I couldn't get here - " he left out that he hadn't been trying yet " - I couldn't get away."

"And you found yourself in a room with Mr. Finnegan, Mr. Weasley, Miss Yan and Mr. Savoy. Mr. Weasley was somehow able to tear himself away, apparently given strength by the dislike you share. It's a pity the others couldn't follow his example." Summers took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. “I intended this not to happen again, and instead it happened worse. Not only did you barely have time to feel the effects before it was too late, this time the spell seized on multiple individuals, who were only near you in the crowd, not focused on you in any specific way. The spell must be unstable – it shouldn’t have changed that much from one day to the next."

Shaking his head, he held up his wand and a potion bottle came zipping over the screen. "I would like to use Show-Clear on you," he said, half to himself, "but I'm worried about you ingesting a potion at the moment. We don't know how badly unstable the spell is. If the potion interacts with the magic that’s already at work, there could be unintended side effects. That’s why I’ve stuck to single ingredients so far..."

"You really think potions could be a danger to me?" Draco said, alarmed. "I've got Potions class this afternoon..."

“Hm. I think ... If you avoid tasting anything, it should be fine,” Summers said. “I’ll give you a note for Professor Marshall saying you can’t test out any potions today, but so long as you don’t drink any, we shouldn't have to worry.”

Draco was not entirely comforted, but the professor would accept a note from the infirmary, and he'd be careful in class. Everything should be fine.

Summers was quiet a moment longer, then nodded to himself and opened the bottle of Show-Clear. Draco leaned away warily, then yelped when a flick of Summers' wand sprinkled potion evenly across him. "What are you doing, you just _said_ \- "

"I said _ingesting_ it could be a bad idea, Mr. Malfoy, not using it topically. It won't be as effective this way, but it should still clarify and enhance the spell-traces enough to help the diagnostics."

"Without any side effects," Draco said, still suspicious.

"Exactly. Now, I'm going to cast some diagnostic spells and let them run while I check on my other patients. Just sit and try to relax in the meantime."

Draco sat for some time after Summers left, watching as glowing lights sprang up and moved over various parts of his body. There were numbers of gold and green lights and one that was a vicious red. That one hovered over his groin, unmoving. He closed his eyes to avoid looking at it.

Eventually Summers returned, some time after all the lights had winked out or settled in place. He flicked his wand at each one and muttered to himself before finally looking at Draco.

“Well, that wasn't as successful as I'd hoped, but we know a bit more than before. I was able to find faint traces on your companions this time, and from looking at the traces on all four of you, several things become clear. For one thing, this spell was definitely intended for two people alone. For another, it was modified so that while it recognizes you as the primary object, it can only grope around for someone who’s properly marked as the secondary – and no one is. So it seizes and releases a series of people – and now is trying out multiple secondary objects at once. _That’s_ entirely strange,” he added. “It’s not only unstable but out of balance, or it wouldn’t have drifted that far from its normal parameters. Either someone cast it badly, or... I suppose they could have left it that way on purpose.

"I'm afraid this is clearly Dark Magic. Not only is it obviously Sex Magic, it's designed to force two people to... have physical relations... whether or not they want to. As we've seen, the end result is that everyone involved effectively becomes a victim of assault."

Draco could feel Summers' gaze on his face, but he refused to look up. Summers sighed.

"If I knew what spell this was originally, I might have a chance of unraveling the changes so I could design an effective counterspell. If I knew the caster, that would tell me something about what family of spells they're likely to have used. Unfortunately, I'm afraid your history has ensured you have far too many enemies to narrow it down that way. Unless you have any idea - ?"

Draco closed his eyes and shook his head, saying nothing. A growing suspicion might be twisting his stomach into knots, but he wasn't about to give it voice.

"Well." Summers' voice was heavy. "I'm afraid until I can analyze the spell when it’s not dormant, I still can’t undo it. The good news is that I should be able to temporarily stymie the spell. If I can block the end of the spell that latches on to whoever’s standing nearby, you’ll only have to deal with your end of it, and I can give you some anti-libidinals that should help with that.”

Still no cure, only stop-gap measures. Draco felt as though he'd run headfirst into a stone wall. He'd known it was there, he had, but he'd kept hoping it would prove to be an illusion at the last moment. "How long is 'temporarily'?"

"At least a day, to start. I may be able to extend that with some work." Summers paused, frowning at his wand absently. "The other issue," he said slowly, "is timing. Yesterday, as soon as you, ah, satisfied the spell, you were free of its effects until today. Can you estimate when that began today? An hour ago, hour and a half?”

Draco tried to force his stunned, halting thoughts to move. He was so bloody tired. “Just after lunch, so... around one, I suppose."

"Yes, so from seven-ish last night to one today… so eighteen hours or so. But then, when it picked up today, it almost immediately went into high activity, unlike yesterday. How long did that take, can you guess? When you first felt it to when Mr. Finnegan and everyone, er, got involved.”

“Oh. Oh, well.” Draco frowned. “It must have started before one, that's when they grabbed me. I didn’t notice it at first. It couldn’t have been more then forty-five minutes, but... I don’t know. Maybe half an hour.”

“Whereas yesterday, it lasted for several hours at least, is that correct?”

“It lasted forever,” Draco muttered. "Is there a point to this?"

"Obviously so, Mr. Malfoy, or I would not be asking. When did you first notice it yesterday?"

“About an hour after lunch."

"Miss Brocklehurst arrived in the infirmary in distress a little before four, so I would estimate the spell took about an hour and a half between activation and the initial attempt at fulfilling its purpose. However, it was thwarted in that attempt. Did you attend supper yesterday?"

"Yes."

"And there were no incidents, then or in the halls afterwards?"

"No."

"So despite your proximity to large numbers of people and the continuing effect of the spell, nothing happened until Mr. Mamun sat down right beside you." Summers frowned to himself. “Merlin blast it,” he muttered. "It intensified significantly overnight. An hour and a half yesterday, forty-five minutes today. If the fallow period follows the same pattern as the active period, that gives us - nine hours. That's assuming that even as unbalanced as the spell is, it’s not going to accelerate to a higher rate of deterioration or escalation, whatever it is. Not, necessarily, a safe assumption,” he finished slowly.

What he was saying probably ought to mean something to Draco, but he was too tired and numb to follow. "Should I know what you're saying?"

"I'm saying that you should have nine hours before the spell reactivates this time. Given the unpredictable shifts the spell has already made, though, I can't guarantee it will be that long."

Gallagher's Academy was near the coast. It occurred to Draco that if he got on his broom and flew out far enough, he could jump, and the sirens would pull him under. That sounded terribly appealing at the moment. His mother would be upset, of course...

"Mr. Malfoy. Remember, I will be blocking off the other end of the spell, so nothing will happen except you'll feel a little warm, and the anti-libidinals will help with that."

Draco thought about feeling 'warm' and concluded that he wasn't interested and might never be again. The thought of even his own hands on his body made him feel sick. He considered asking how effective the anti-libidinals were, but couldn't care enough to open his mouth. The sirens really might be the best option.

A bell started ringing outside the screen. Draco wondered vaguely how the noise made it through the soundproofing spell, then ignored it.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Summers sounded alarmed. "Hell. Stay right here, I'll be back."

Draco had no objection. Really, everything was simpler now. He could go as soon as he left the infirmary, just Summon his broom and leave. He would miss Potions, of course, but it wouldn't matter after that, would it? Nothing would matter anymore; not how well he studied, not what everyone thought of him, not this bloody spell.

Summers came back in with a variety of things floating behind him. Draco sat quietly, dreaming about the peaceful flight out over the sea, while Summers set up a little table with various items on it in a circle.

"Please lie down, Mr. Malfoy."

Even knowing that it didn't matter now, part of him tensed. He lay back on the bed, keeping one eye on Summers and one on the doorway between the screen and the wall. Nothing happened except that Summers started chanting, his wand drawing complex patterns in the air. It went on and on and Draco relaxed, waiting for Summers to finish whatever it was and let him go.

Summers turned, still chanting, and pointed his wand at Draco, and Draco went rigid as the chilly, numb distance of shock vanished. He was so angry. No, disgusted, he was sick with violation, fear and horror and helpless fury - he thrashed on the bed, tears on his face, jaw clenched.

Summers' voice droned on. The rage and resentment and anguish built until Draco thought he screamed, though he could only hear a strange grating keening noise.

And then it all stopped. Draco went limp, panting as the intensity of emotion left him empty. No, not quite empty - he could still feel, he just wasn't overwhelmed by it.

Summers was still droning. Outside, the bell had stopped ringing. Draco breathed deeply and tried to catch up to himself.

He had been been furious at the caster of the spell and everyone who'd been caught in it, and the rest of the world as well. He had hated everything and everyone, not with the cool scorn Draco was used to feeling for his inferiors, but with a kind of helpless rage that was self-annihilating. He had hated himself for being so weak as to be taken that way. And he'd been filled with such despair -

Had he actually been contemplating _suicide_ a moment ago?

Draco twitched all over, shaking that off, and began pushing himself up to sit again. He felt - different. Fully awake for the first time today, for one thing. That had clearly been nothing as simple as a Cheering Charm, and he didn't feel particularly cheerful. The damn spell was still on him, after all - oh.

The sick twist in his stomach when he thought about the spell was gone. Deliberately he thought back to what had happened less than an hour ago. It wasn't pleasant, certainly, and he wanted it to never happen again, but the churning tangle of feelings didn't resurface, only the echo of unease. He was anxious about when the spell would kick in again, scared that things might go wrong again - but he wasn't paralyzed with it. Summers said he had a solution this time, and Draco was willing to give it a chance.

The chanting stopped and Summers blew out a long breath. "...Heavy work to do twice in one day," he muttered, drawing his free hand across his eyes.

"What was that? I thought you'd - that wasn't a Cheering Charm."

"Dear Merlin, no! That would be a terrible misuse and potentially harmful to your mental state. This is a therapeutic enchantment often used with mental and emotional trauma. Essentially, it compresses the reactions and responses you would have to the event over the next half year or so into about a minute, resulting in a much lower intensity of associated feelings at the end. It gives you the leavening and softening effect of time having passed. The downside is the extreme intensity of the emotions you feel in that compressed minute, but given that according to that alarm you were losing the will to live, I judged it preferable to the alternative."

Draco flushed, avoiding his eyes. He supposed it made sense that in the infirmary that sort of alarm would make itself heard through any soundproofing.

"How do you feel now?"

He shrugged minimally. "Well enough, all considered. Weren't you concerned about other spells interacting badly with this one?"

"Not this enchantment, highly unlikely. Do you feel able to go through the rest of your day now?"

"You were going to block off the other end - "

"Yes, I haven't forgotten. Answer the question."

"I feel _fine_ , thank you." He did, actually. Compared to the past twenty-four hours, it was remarkably pleasant.

"Good." Summers smiled at him, a little weary but pleased, and Draco blinked and looked away, disconcerted to feel reassured. "Now, come out and I'll brew up the solution to stymie this spell, and then you'll have to run to Potions class."

Potter was still sitting by the door when Draco stepped out from behind the screens. He'd almost forgotten Potter had wanted to stay, or perhaps he unconsciously assumed he'd have gotten bored and left by now. Seeing him there gave Draco an odd jolt, not entirely unpleasant, annoyance at Potter's persistence mingling with that disturbing little thrill from before.

“What's wrong, Potter, don't you trust Master Summers to do his job without you here to watch? Or were you hoping for prurient details?”

He could see Potter roll his eyes from across the room. “I’m just waiting to hear if you pose any more danger to the rest of the school.”

“I'm not what poses a danger!”

"You, the curse on you, whatever," Potter said impatiently. "I'd like to know if I need to keep an eye out in Potions and be ready to drag people off of you."

Draco stared at him. "I don't need you looking after me, Potter." The image that brought to mind, of lust-maddened students trying to reach him, Potter fending them off, _defending_ him - he clenched his teeth, disturbed on multiple levels.

"I'd be looking after _them_ , not you, you git!" Potter glared at him. "Those two student Aurors looked all right when they left a few minutes ago, but they sure weren't when I first walked in that classroom! Maybe you didn't notice you're not the only one suffering here!"

Draco's breath hissed in through his teeth. "Don't _you_ tell _me_ about suffering - "

"Mr. Malfoy!" Summers said sharply. "Mr. Potter. If you cannot be civil and quiet while I'm preparing to block this spell, I will Silence you both."

Sneering at Potter, Draco turned away to watch Summers. Bottles and tiny ceramic jars were gathering on the table, soaring from the cupboards to land neatly. With his wand Summers directed a mortar and pestle to begin crushing something before frowning at his chosen ingredients. "Honeysuckle, a bit of Tangler-Oak sap, and a pinch of dried Cut-Worm, I think, and then if we add Chamomile for stasis…” he was murmuring to himself, wand flicking from one jar to the next.

Draco was unwillingly impressed by the careless, fluid rapidity with which he crushed, blended and poured things, resulting eventually in a tiny bowl full of brownish-green muck that shimmered faintly. The wariness with which Draco regarded it grew to active horror when Summers dug a small wooden spoon into the stuff and turned to him.

"I am not eating that!"

"No, no, raw Tangler-Oak sap is poisonous when ingested, anyway," Summers said impatiently. "No, this requires topical application. Just hold still."

Rigid with disgust, Draco shut his eyes as the spoon approached his face. Cool, slimy stuff spread over his forehead, then the spoon withdrew.

"Take a deep breath and hold it, make sure your eyes and mouth are shut."

Feeling an idiot and hating Potter for watching this, Draco did. Summers muttered something and the slime began to spread, oozing over Draco's face, down across eyelids, lips, chin, creeping faster down his neck, under his _clothes,_ and Draco let out a muffled yelp, trying to keep his lips closed.

"Just relax, it'll be done in a second."

Across his chest, down his arms, up over his shoulders and down his back. Draco shuddered as it swept past his waistband, over every _inch_ of skin before it coated his legs and feet in a rush - and vanished, all at once. Draco's eyes snapped open and he gasped, because it wasn't done. A wave of power swept from the soles of his feet up his body, shivering over his skin and crackling in his hair. In its wake came an unfamiliar warmth, a peaceful feeling. It felt as though something subtly awry had snapped back into alignment. When Draco put words to it, he realized he had a sense of deep comfort. When in the last few years had comfort become so unusual as to be unknown?

"Erm. Malfoy?"

" _What_ , Potter?"

"Your skin is glowing."

"My complexion has always been excellent, but there's no need for flattery," Draco drawled, looking down at one hand. The skin did, in fact, have a faint, pearly iridescence.

"You only wish," Potter muttered.

"A purely cosmetic effect," Summers said. "No fear, it should fade in an hour or so. I'm glad you seem to be feeling better, Mr. Malfoy. I had hoped blocking this might have that effect."

"Is that it?" Draco said. "I wondered. Do you always alter people's mental and emotional states without so much as a by-your-leave?"

"My apologies," Summers said acidly, "next time I'll be sure to warn you that the spell-block for the Dark Magic on you could also give you unasked-for feelings of wellbeing."

"You didn't ask before, either."

"That's because you were suicidal!" Summers snapped, jabbing a finger at Draco. "Which it is my job to prevent!"

Draco stared at him, anger surging awake. Of all things for him to say with Potter _right there_ -

Summers pressed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "Making my excellent record of confidentiality a thing of the past. Mr. Potter, you should in no way have been allowed to hear what I just said. If you give me your word of honor not to mention it to anyone else, all friends and teachers included, I will leave your memory intact."

"Wha - _why?_ " Draco demanded, over Potter's oddly sober, "I promise."

"Because Mr. Potter is a relatively mature young man and I trust his word, as does most of the wizarding world."

"He has no right to know about that!"

"Mr. Malfoy, do you have any friends at this school?"

The complete non-sequiter caught Draco off-guard. "What - what does that have to do - "

"Because it seems to me that if Mr. Potter is inclined to come to your assistance on occasion, as he did accompanying you here, it can do you no harm for him to take the spell's effects on you as seriously as he takes those on everyone else."

Draco's mouth stayed open a second before he was able to speak. "So this will make him pity me. And I should be _grateful?_ "

"Oh, for Merlin's sake - it's called empathy. Never mind. Let me get that note for your professor. _Slytherins_ ," Draco heard him say under his breath as he turned away.

Refusing to look at Potter, Draco glared at a corner of the room until Summers finished dictating to the scribbling quill at his desk and returned with a small sealed scroll. "Here. I've included a brief summary of your current situation and instructions that if anything unexpected occurs to or around you, I am to be contacted immediately. If you feel any change, contact me as well. And Mr. Malfoy, as soon as you feel the first hint of desire, whether that's tonight or tomorrow, come back in right away so I can get a good look at the active spell. I intend to figure out a permanent cure as soon as possible."

Draco nodded shortly, taking the scroll.

"Now, you'd best both be off. Mr. Potter, do remember your promise."

“Yes, sir. Come on, Malfoy,” Potter said, glancing at the clock above him, “Potions is about to start. We’ll have to run.”

The advantage to running to class was that it made any exchange of words impossible.

Potions was not usually one of Draco’s favorite classes – the constant reminders of Professor Snape were uncomfortable, and Professor Marshall annoyed him (how could a woman be so strict and meticulous with her potion-making and so untidy with herself? It reminded him of Professor Trelawney on a bad day) – but after he turned over the note from the infirmary, this day at least seemed likely to be tolerable. Professor Marshall stared at him with her huge black eyes and twitched her mouth in anxiety, waving him to sit down as if she feared he might faint or explode. She didn’t call on him to answer any difficult questions, which was a pity, because he knew at least most of the answers and could’ve faked his way through the rest.

The practical subject today was a potion for improved focus and concentration, which the professor predictably suggested they would be wise to use while studying for their N.E.W.T.s. Taking this or any similar potion before taking the N.E.W.T.s was, of course, strictly prohibited. Sometimes Draco thought the N.E.W.T.s were all any of the teachers thought about, when they were still months away, after all.

In deference to Draco’s apparently delicate condition, Professor Marshall decided it would be unwise to let him brew the potion at all. Instead, he was to observe. That seemed unobjectionable enough.

"Mr. Longbottom," Professor Marshall said, tugging distractedly at a half-dried Simula-root that was determinedly clinging to the mouth of its jar, “would you be so kind as to make room for Mr. Malfoy beside you?”

Draco moved as slowly as possible towards the desk of Longbottom, who was only taking Potions now “to learn about plants from the other end” as he’d explained to a beaming Professor Marshall at the start of the year. All the teachers seemed to adore Longbottom almost as much as they worshipped Potter – he could’ve said he wanted to learn how to mix a potion in his ears and she would’ve called it innovative.

Longbottom looked even less thrilled at having an observer than Draco was to be one, which was understandable. While his skills had improved somewhat since last year, that wasn't saying much, and he had to know Draco was considerably more advanced.

“Sit down, Malfoy,” Longbottom sighed when Draco reached him, “and stay quiet, unless you want to distract me and make this thing explode.”

"If you don't want competent help, that's your affair," Draco shrugged, and sat.

"...Are you glowing?"

"I've always had exceptionally clear skin, but the lily-root soap does add a certain luminance, doesn't it?"

Longbottom snorted and didn't care enough to pursue the topic.

At first it was easy enough to keep his thoughts to himself, but Draco found it increasingly difficult as the potion drifted farther and farther from the stages it should be reaching. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“No,” he groaned as Longbottom got ready to dump in the next ingredient. “That Lambsquarter is _green_. It needs to be dried, Longbottom, unless you want woolly thinking added to your concentration!”

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Longbottom said, glaring, but he fetched the dried leaves from the cabinet anyway, shredded them properly and dropped them into the cauldron. Wisps of blue steam began to lift off the surface of the gently boiling potion, and Draco shook his head.

“Harder to do, isn’t it,” he murmured, “without Granger around to give you the right answers.”

Longbottom stiffened. “I thought I told you to stay _quiet_ , Malfoy."

Draco smirked and said nothing.

"Anyway, I notice you’re still managing to get other people to do your work for you," Longbottom added. "What’d you do, tell Professor Marshall you had a weak arm?”

“No, Master Summers wrote her a note about my curse," he said coolly. "I suppose she decided not to risk any accidents. Mealworms first, Longbottom, _then_ the plantain seeds.”

"Stop. Telling me. What to do," Longbottom said through his teeth. He scraped the dried and crushed mealworm fragments into the cauldron before scattering the seeds on top, then stirred irritably, small droplets of dark liquid flipping about with the vigor of his wand motions.

“Careful, Longbottom,” Draco sang softly. He was rather enjoying himself. “You don’t want to get any on me.”

“I don't, do I?” Longbottom pulled his wand away from the cauldron and gave Draco a narrow look. “What are you going to do? Try to duel me if I soil your precious clothes? Write home to Da to complain?”

“No. If it activates the curse, you could find yourself snogging me – or worse.” No need to mention that the curse was blocked at the moment, or that the touch of a potion on his skin was unlikely to affect it anyway. He just wanted to see that look of horror - well, horrified disgust.

"Are you telling me that mess with Brocklehurst yesterday and Seamus today are actually the results of a curse on you?" Longbottom demanded. The other conversations around them quieted abruptly and Draco glanced around uneasily to see a number of students obviously listening.

"Lower your bloody voice, can't you?"

"Malfoy, if you - "

"Neville!" In front of them, Potter had turned from his potion and was looking exasperated. "Yeah, he's under a curse, but Ben fixed it, everyone's safe around him now. Malfoy, what are you trying to do, get yourself hexed by half the class?"

Draco snarled at him, furious all over again. "For the last time, Potter, I don't need you - "

"Misters Malfoy, Potter and Longbottom!" Professor Marshall said loudly from the back corner of the classroom. "Kindly save your personal disagreements for outside of class! Mr. Longbottom, your potion is dangerously neglected. It may not be salvageable, but you'd best try quickly."

Red-cheeked, Longbottom turned back to his cauldron, in which the wildly bubbling potion was an ominous shade of grey, the bubbles ringed with green.

“Add the chopped gorse twigs, then - ” Draco began, and Longbottom wheeled on him, wand clutched dangerously tight in his hand.

“I don’t want to hear any more from you,” Longbottom said in a flat voice, wand flashing up to point steadily at Draco’s face as he stiffened and grabbed for his own wand. “Don’t try me, Malfoy.”

“Mr. Longbottom!” came Professor Marshall’s shocked voice. “Lower your wand this instant! What are you _thinking_ of – ”

As Longbottom jerked it away, the wand-tip spat with his anger and startlement, and the sparks arced down and touched the roiling surface of the potion.

In the ensuing explosion Longbottom went one way, slamming into the table across the aisle from them, and his cauldron went the other, spraying potion in a scorching curve that hit Draco across the chest as it toppled. Professor Marshall slammed a Freezing Charm onto every other cauldron in the room even as the first blew up, including the one that was tipped up on one edge over the prone Longbottom, wave of potion caught in stasis just as it slopped over the edge, and then shouted across the room over the students’ yelps and cries of alarm, “ _Scourgify!_ ”

Before he’d even had time to yell at the pain of boiling liquid soaking his robes, the potion was gone, his robes nearly clean and only the throbbing burn of his skin to show it had happened. Draco drew a breath and groaned softly at the pull of his shirt against the burns. At an echoing groan, he glanced at the table in front of their potion-covered one, where Potter was suddenly standing very straight, a faint discolored splash streaking the back of his robe.

“ _Aguamenti,_ ” Professor Marshall said, and Draco yelped as cold water cascaded from her wand over his front. As soon as the pain of impact faded, he realized how much it cooled the burn and did his best not to glare. Grim-faced, she turned and doused Potter’s back as well before stalking over to the fireplace and floo-calling the infirmary. “Benjamin Summers, kindly attend me. You have patients here.”

“Harry, are you all right?” exclaimed the Weasel, having deserted his cauldron near the back of the class to get to the front. Potter smiled at him a bit crookedly.

“Fine, thanks, just a bit scorched. Your potion doing all right, then?”

“Well. Erm, yeah, sure. But what in the name of Merlin’s ancient bollocks happened?”

Moving carefully, Potter turned and glanced around the room at the babbling, anxious students, then relaxed enough to lean back on his table and its safely static potion. “Didn’t see it. Neville, what happened?”

Longbottom had just stood up, leaning a bit on the Ravenclaw Patil girl until he could grab a table to slump against. “Dunno,” he mumbled a bit blearily, “wasn’t tryin’ to do anythin’…”

“He lost his temper,” Draco said coldly. “He let the potion get overheated, so when his wand sparked on it the whole thing exploded.”

Potter gave him a look. “Trust you to blame it on him, Malfoy. You were the one needling him into losing his temper. If you weren’t trying to get a reaction, why were you being such an insufferable git?”

“Because Malfoy couldn’t stop being a git if it’d save his life,” the Weasel said hotly. “How many times did we save your life, you ferrety little bastard?”

“Mr. Weasley, language!” snapped Professor Marshall, storming back into the middle of the room, where she cleaned up the remains of the spilled potion with angry flicks of her wand. “Is everyone all right? Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, you were the only ones touched by the potion?”

Draco blinked as he looked around, but it was true – he and Potter were the only ones with faint potion stains on their robes; everyone else seemed clean, if flustered. He looked back at Potter with a strange niggling sensation, as if there were something he needed to remember.

“Mr. Longbottom, are you dizzy or nauseous?” the professor continued, and Longbottom shook his head, looking more clear-eyed if a bit subdued. He moved back to the table by Draco as she muttered angrily to herself, reinforcing the Freezing Charm on the cauldrons and answering students’ worried questions. “Yes, Miss Turpin, as it clearly states in your potions book, a Focusing Potion does not react well to overheating, but as long as yours is in stasis, it can’t…”

“He’s right,” Longbottom said quietly to Potter and the Weasel, who frowned at him in puzzlement. “I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I’m sorry, Harry. Want me to try healing it?”

“Neville, it wasn’t _your_ fault!” the Weasel was just blustering when the fireplace billowed green smoke and spat out a rapidly spinning Summers.

“Benjamin!” Professor Marshall said loudly. “What took you? Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have both been burned by a potion mishap!”

“Emily – ” Summers said, swaying a bit dizzily. “Have to tell Griggsby the floo’s acting up again, think it tried to take me halfway to Wales – wait, _Malfoy?_ ” Jerking upright, he stared around and saw Draco with the dried remnants of potion crusted on his robes. “Oh, hell.” He hurried over, pulling out his wand. “How do you feel? Have you noticed any sign that the curse is coming back?”

“Wait, it could really come back?” Longbottom said in the background, to which the Weasel replied, “Ergh, dunno. Still think he must have cast it on himself, though.”

“I don’t think so,” Draco answered Summers, a bit distracted. He tried to peer around Summers, now standing directly in front of him, to look at Potter. Annoyingly, Summers caught his chin before he could see what was happening.

“Good. Please try to hold still for a moment, Mr. Malfoy. If you haven’t noticed any symptoms, we’ll assume the block is holding for the moment and I’ll treat you both for burns first.”

"Erm," he heard Potter say, "I feel a bit... huh."

"You all right, mate?" the Weasel said.

"Don't really know."

“I'll attend to you in one moment, Mr. Potter. How painful is it?” Summers asked Draco, wand passing slowly across Draco’s torso and leaving a faint glow behind it over the burns on his chest.

“Painful,” Draco said shortly.

“There’s a change since Hogwarts,” the Weasel said a bit too loudly, sounding unnerved. “Used to be he’d be howling about how he was dying around now – ”

“Ron,” Longbottom said, and he quieted down to a sulky mutter.

“Everything changes, Weasel,” Draco said sweetly, watching the wand glide smoothly back across his chest, leaving blessed coolness behind it and a certain numb feeling. “Except enmity, of course.”

“All right, that should feel better,” Summers said, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he looked up from studying the glow. “I’ll go ahead and do the same for Harry, and then I should be able to heal you both. For that, Emily,” he said, turning to Professor Marshall, who had taken the opportunity to inspect the potions caught in stasis and give several students advice on them, “is it all right if I take them back to the infirmary?”

“Oh, I – yes, that’s fine,” she said, twisting her mouth in agitation. “Had you finished, Potter? I’ll just give you my judgment on it later, then.”

"Yeah. I - er, mine was pretty much done, I think. Right." He sounded a bit scattered, Draco thought.

“Good, that’s fine,” said Summers, and he stepped behind Potter and started his wand drifting slowly over the potion stain on his back.

Finally he was out of Draco’s line of sight to Potter! Draco looked at him, and slowly, as if reluctant, Potter turned his head to look back. Green eyes met grey and something jolted in the pit of Draco’s stomach. Potter’s eyes widened at the same time.

“All right, Mr. Malfoy?” said Summers over Potter’s shoulder, and Draco realized he’d gasped softly.

“Fine,” he said, holding Potter’s gaze. He felt quite peculiar, disturbed and thrilled at the same time.

"Maybe you think so, Malfoy," Potter said sharply. "This is not fine. There's something wrong."

"Would you care to clarify, Mr. Potter?" Summers said, pausing.

"Not you, you're fine, Ben," Potter added, without looking away from Draco. "No. I feel... really odd." He looked shaken and pale beneath the mop of wild black hair. Draco wondered what his own face looked like.

“You don’t look so good,” the Weasel said critically.

"Is there a reason you're staring at Malfoy?" Longbottom asked.

"He's _what?_ " Summers snapped, stepping out from behind Potter to stare from him to Draco. "Oh, _blast_." He eyed them grimly a moment, then nodded and returned to his spell on Potter's back. "All right, first things first. Assuming that neither of you are feeling a sudden loss of self-control, I will complete this... and then we will return to the infirmary and investigate this fully."

Loss of self-control! Draco almost laughed, realizing he was afraid Potter had been caught by the curse. Of course, this was completely different, none of the other times had felt like this; it had all been hot and frantic, lust and desperation. This was... well, different, anyway. He didn't feel like that. He wasn't sure how he felt, come to that, but it wasn't like that. It was almost... pleasant.

"There. Finished,” Summers said, and moved out from behind Potter, putting his wand away. "I trust that feels better, Mr. Potter?"

"Much, thank you, Ben," Potter said, his gaze unwavering on Draco.

It was odd; Draco would have assumed that if he and Potter were ever to stare fixedly at one another, it would feel more in the nature of a contest of wills. But he felt no pressure to uphold his pride, no desire to compete and show Potter up. He just didn't want to look away from those uneasy green eyes.

"All right, gentlemen, to the infirmary with you both." Summers sighed. "Due to the apparent Flue malfunction, we will be walking."


	3. In Which Summers Identifies The Curse (Eventually)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The libido-blockers prove helpful, no one is prepared for the curse's newest manifestation, and Potter just needs to stop.

The trip through the corridors to the infirmary was relatively uneventful, if one didn’t count the number of times they both stumbled because they were watching each other and not their feet.  Eventually Summers sighed and stepped back to guide them along in front of him, a hand on each one’s shoulder.  He propelled them through the doors of the infirmary at last, where they stood awkwardly, eyes still locked.

"So, gents, how are you both feeling?"

"Really weird," Potter said, glaring at Draco.

"Fine," Draco said, smirking back.

“Hmm.  What kind of potion were you working with?” Summers asked.

“Deep-Focus," Potter volunteered.

"Which Longbottom was in the process of muddling up badly when he lost control and it exploded," Draco added.

"Thanks to you provoking him, Malfoy!" Potter snapped.  "Honestly, you are still such a git!"

"And you're entirely unbiased, as always," Draco shot back.  He was trying to peer through the faint reflection-glare off Potter’s glasses, which made it hard to see his eyes clearly.  In theory, that shouldn't have been as annoying as it was.

"Gentlemen," Summers said in a quelling tone, and sighed.  "First and foremost, Mr. Malfoy, are you feeling anything that might be attributed to your spell?"

"Not in the least."

"What exactly are you experiencing?"

"Nothing much," Draco said, with a slight, elegant shrug.

In peripheral vision he could see Summers rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.  "Except, of course, that you can't take your eyes off Mr. Potter.  Please describe the sensation."

"There isn't one, really," Draco said, "and anyway, shouldn’t you heal us first?”

In the pause that followed, Draco was fairly sure Summers was glaring at him.  Then he sighed again and muttered some swearwords he shouldn’t have been using around students.  “Fine.  But you’re going to stop evading the question after that.”

He worked on them one at a time, winding his wand in graceful, practiced arcs over the burns beneath their clothes, chanting something complicated under his breath.  For all Draco knew, he was reciting his shopping list, because he could hardly pay enough attention to Summers to know when he’d stopped working on him and started working on Potter.  All Draco could see were those irritated sage-green eyes behind an annoying glass barrier, and he couldn't seem to think clearly.  It felt like slowly sinking into a warm pool and being bouyed up, floating peacefully.  Even the interrupted argument between them wasn't an irritant - the thought of fighting Potter was as pleasing as it had ever been, and sort of exciting now.  That seemed a little odd, actually.  Had he felt that way before?

“All right,” the mediwizard finally said, stepping back, and Draco distantly realized that the numb feeling was gone and the skin on his chest felt ordinary again – a bit tender, but uninjured.  “I’ve fixed the burns and prevented any scarring.  The new skin may be sensitive for a while – Are you listening?”

“Of course,” Draco said.

"I hear you, Ben," Potter added.

“I see.  It's a bit peculiar to speak to patients who won't look at me.”  In the corner of his eye, Draco saw Summers scrub a hand through his hair.  "Well.  Beside the point.

"So, Deep-Focus potion, unfinished and potentially flawed to begin with.  It is not supposed to be topical, but in that state, Merlin alone knows.  Then you were both splashed in a cauldron’s worth of it.  I suppose it's possible you just caught each other’s attention, and now your focuses are locked... Mr. Potter, you've said repeatedly that you feel strange.  Would you care to elucidate?"

Potter swallowed visibly and scowled at Draco.  "Sort of - I don't know.  Like being underwater, all floaty and relaxed, except also sort of weirdly excited - like looking forward to a Quidditch match or something.  I know it's obviously not real, because I'm still annoyed at this complete git for continuing to be a git."

"Mm-hm," Summers said thoughtfully.  "Putting aside whether or not spell-created feelings can be said to be 'real' or not, because answers differ - is there any lustful component to the feeling at all?"

"Merlin, no," Potter said.  Draco sneered at him, and couldn't help but observe that Potter's scornful look was still as effective as he remembered.

"And you feel anticipatory, but you can't say what you might be expecting?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Well, that seems less dire than it might be overall.  And you, Mr. Malfoy?  How does your experience differ?"  

Draco shrugged again, enjoying the way Potter's eyes narrowed at him.  "Not much.  It's really rather pleasant."

"Hmm.  At what stage was the potion just before the incident occurred?"

"Longbottom added the plantain seeds, then let it overheat until the bubbles were green-ringed.  He hadn't added the chopped gorse yet."

"Ahhh."  Summers sounded pleased.  "Well, Mr. Potter, it may relieve you to hear that the relaxed sensation is caused by the components that balance out the potion, preventing muscle-tension and unhealthy hyperfocus, probably mainly Lambsquarter.  Gorse is one of the main focusing agents, and without it there's no wonder you're feeling a bit 'floaty'.

"Good.  I think it's clear Mr. Malfoy's troublesome spell has had no untoward effects, since your symptoms are easily traced back to the Focusing potion.  That being the case, I should be able to remove the effects without much difficulty."  

"Thank Merlin," Potter said, looking considerably less grim as Summers walked behind Draco, murmuring to himself.  Draco heard the mediwizard opening cupboards and moving things about at the back of the room.  "The burns are one thing, but the last thing I need is to be stuck staring at Malfoy all day."  

"What's wrong, Potter, do my flawless features make you feel inadequate?"

"That must be it," Potter said dryly, and Draco thought he almost smiled, which was... sort of unnerving, actually.  The potion must be taking stronger effect and relaxing him now that he wasn't so worried anymore.  That certainly wasn't his usual response to Draco's taunts.

"You've almost stopped glowing, by the way," Potter added.  "Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted."

"My sorrow is infinite," Draco told him, and Potter snickered.  Then he stopped, looking startled, and rubbed a knuckle over his mouth.  The look in the green eyes was quite entertaining, and Draco smirked.  Potter didn't even bother to glare, just gave him a tired look.

"Here we are, gentlemen," Summers said, and a flick of his wand sprayed them both with blue liquid from the open vial in his other hand.  Draco sputtered and Potter sneezed.  Summers ignored the sounds of annoyance to begin murmuring another complicated spell.

Potter went to take his blue-spattered glasses off to polish them and hesitated, then sighed and dried them on one sleeve without looking away from Draco.  He put them on again, saw that he'd missed a spot, and polished them more thoroughly while glaring at Draco.  This time they were judged clean when he put them on.  Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair, briefly revealing his scar as he shoved his bangs back.

Draco was rather enjoying himself, but it did occur to him that this would rapidly get less amusing as soon as he was the one trying to do something that needed eyes on it without dropping his gaze.  The fact that Potter looked bored now was less entertaining.  Then he began to glitter orange, and blinked at Draco.

"There we are," Summers said, as a cloud of orange sparks lifted off Potter and met the one streaming off Draco, then dissolved into the air.  "How do you both feel now?"

Potter looked over at Summers, shrugged, and then got a startled look and grinned broadly.  "Excellent, thanks, Ben!  It's good to look where I want again."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco said.  "It wasn't even that long, Potter, where's your endurance?"

Potter flicked him a brief look and went back to watching Summers.  He didn't even bother to retort, as though the amount of attention he could pay Draco in a day had already run out and he was bound to ignore him now.

Draco clenched his jaw and stared out the window on the near wall, which currently looked out on a clearing in the middle of a forest.  The mossy ground was covered in red flowers, which he rather thought were a poisonous variety.  His peaceful warm feeling was gone without a trace.

"Well, that's very good," Summers said happily.  "Let me see, let me see, we'll want to check you both to be sure nothing else untoward has occurred, of course - I'm afraid it's more potpourri in the hair for you both."

"Oh good," Draco drawled.  "You'll love this, Potter.  Of course, with your hair, it's hard to tell the difference when you've just rolled about on the ground.  Some of us have to take a bit more care."

"Everyone knows how much care you take with your hair, Malfoy," Potter said, eyes still on Summers as he Summoned a jar of dried stuff and scattered a palmful over Draco's head.  "I remember the time it turned green.  Ron was terribly sad for you."

Draco felt his face heat.  The Weasel had laughed so hard he'd nearly fallen over.

"Gentlemen," Summers said, sounding unamused.  "Cease, unless you want me to lose my concentration and leave you both with facial warts.  Fortunately, I thought to prepare this mix beforehand, since - well.  It seems likely I'll be using this analysis spell more often for awhile."

Potter didn't even blink at the mix of bark fragments, wing bits, dried leaves and dust sprinkled in his hair.  He was gazing at the various tools and supplies scattered on the table beside him as Summers circled his wand over both their heads and stood back.

This time Draco watched the band of light slide down Potter's body instead of his.  Potter glanced down as it passed over his chest, then over at Draco and paused, watching for a second before hastily looking away again.

"Good, good," Summers said when it finished and the lights vanished.  Draco glanced down to see the faintly pulsing glow over his groin wink out.  Potter hadn't had any glow.  "Mr. Potter, it looks like you're free to go.  Mr. Malfoy, due to the technique I used to remove the Focusing effects, I also temporarily removed your block, so I'll just replace that before you leave."

Draco swallowed and nodded.  He was certainly not going anywhere without the block.

"Thanks very much for the help, Ben," Potter said, and waved on his way out the door.

Obviously Draco didn't want him hanging about, and the way he'd been almost hovering today was thoroughly irritating, and of course he didn't want or need Harry Potter shadowing his every movement, escorting and protecting him.  Draco could look after himself without any help from the Boy Who Fainted Around Dementors.  Repressing a snarl, he glared at the wall as the door closed.

"Right, Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid it's another topical application of your favorite mixture with the Tangler-Oak sap, and then you'll be just in time for supper."

"Marvelous," Draco muttered.

\------

Supper began uneventfully enough.  Draco found a seat near the end of the FeynEyrie table, which had more international trainees than the others and thus left him less likely to be bothered.  Theo Nott caught his eye passing by and nodded in greeting, and the recognition in addition to quantities of hot food did a good deal for his temper.

He was halfway through his meal when an English Auror-trainee he unfortunately recognized slid into the empty seat across from him.  Draco's stomach tightened.

"Well, if it isn't our baby Death Eater, come to dine on the hopes and dreams of the innocent.  What's this I hear about you beginning a new career as a rapist?"

The food in his mouth, delicious a moment ago, was heavy and dry as wood.  It went down about as easily.

"No, really," the fellow said, voice light and amused, smiling under eyes like blue poison.  No one sitting around them looked twice, his tone was so ordinary.  "You know, Rupert almost had a nervous breakdown.  He doesn't even like blokes, especially wispy little snakes who should've been drowned at birth.  He particularly didn't like being forced to cheat on his fiancee, not that you'd care."

Draco sneered, then stood up and headed for the exit.  Sometimes if he seemed to be running away that was enough for them, and there was no use trying to change seats when he'd only follow.

"So what is it?" said the voice, close on his heels. "Did you realize you'd never get anyone sane to sleep with you? You do know that even if you curse people into shagging you, it doesn't mean you're actually likeable. Everyone just has more reasons than ever to despise you. And we do." He laughed, bright and angry. "Really, I hadn't thought it was possible to think you were more of a slimy little viper than I did before, but how wrong I was!"

They were out in the corridor now, alone, and Draco whirled with his wand out even as the trainee cried, " _Stupefy!_ "

Draco deflected the hex silently and sent one back. The trainee bounced it back at him and stepped forward, beginning to circle around while Draco was distracted. Not wanting to be turned in circles any more than he wanted the open corridor behind him, Draco moved to one side and stepped back against the wall during the next flurry of sent and blocked spells. The trainee slowly passed him until he was throwing and deflecting spells while facing the way they'd come. Draco had to face him to be quick enough, but he kept his shoulder to the wall.

He was only too aware that he might be overmatched, dueling someone older who was specifically training to be faster and more deadly with a wand. On the other hand, this self-righteous bastard hadn't spent the last year in close proximity to the Dark Lord and survived.

It was hard to track time in the midst of a duel, but it couldn't last long; they were just outside the dining halls, for Merlin’s sake. Sure enough, a moment later the trainee’s eyes flickered past Draco, but when he looked back he was smiling. Instinctively Draco threw a Shield spell behind him, then pressed himself to the wall so he could see both ways at once.

“‘lo, Whitman,” said the skinny bloke who'd just stepped into the corridor. His wand was drawn, and he'd clearly just blocked whatever spell Draco had deflected back at him. “Found a stray Death Eater, have you? Like some help with that?”

“Feel free, Harris,” the first trainee said cheerfully, and Draco’s stomach dropped sickly.

“You bloody cowards,” he snarled, and then there was no more time for speaking because he was blocking hexes from both directions. He had no time to cast any in return, barely had time to think, and then a hex made it under his guard and he couldn't breathe, there was no air, his skin was prickling with terror as his knees buckled and any second one of them was going to finish it -

" _Expelliarmus!_ " shouted a new voice, followed by “ _Finite Incantatem._ ”

Draco dragged in a breath, and another, back propped against the wall, and looked up.

Potter was standing there behind Harris, glaring from him to Whitman and holding three wands along with his own. Of course it was Potter. Draco clenched his teeth, ignoring the thrilled undercurrent beneath the rage. 

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Whitman demanded.

“Keeping you from bullying people. If you're going to pick a fight, do it with someone in your own class and don't bloody gang up on them.”

“You shouldn't waste your time worrying about scum like him. Just relax, we'll take care of it,” Harris suggested.

"For crying out loud, leave Malfoy alone!" Potter said, glowering. "He's got enough to deal with without you harassing him."

"Oh, yes, so much assault and coercion in his day planner, it must be hard to keep up with!" Whitman said.

Potter's glare darkened. "He's got a curse on him, Whitman, it's not his fault. He hasn't done anything all year - you think I haven't been watching him? You think Gallagher hasn't? Budge off and let him be."

"Why are you taking the side of a Death Eater, Potter?” Whitman said, staring at him. “You of all people should know he can't be trusted!"

"What, you think he's got some deep-laid plan that involves leaving everyone alone while other people attack him on a weekly basis? You're right, that sounds downright diabolical. Take your wands and get out of here," Potter said, glancing over to include Harris in this.

Harris hastily accepted his wand and vanished down a side corridor. Whitman stalked over and snatched his own wand from Potter’s hand. "He's got no business being here, and someone needs to remind him of it."

"You could take it up with Gallagher," Potter suggested conversationally. "Like a lot of people did at the beginning of the year. You know he questioned Malfoy under Verita Serum about his intentions before he let him in? You don't actually care, though, because you're just looking for someone to knock around."

"He deserves everything he gets," Whitman said through his teeth.

Potter gave him a disgusted look. "You don't think that differently from Voldemort, you know that? Stay the hell away from Malfoy, or you'll have to deal with me."

"Is that supposed to worry me? You're not even a trainee yet."

"I guess you'll just have to try me and find out," Potter said.

Whitman narrowed his eyes and stormed past him into the dining halls again. Potter half turned to watch him.

"I don't need your help," Draco said flatly, angrier because it was so obviously untrue. He would be dead or at the mercy of those spiteful bastards right now if Potter hadn't stepped in. He was deep in debt to Potter, and Potter wasn't even bothering to mention it. The entire situation was intolerable.

"You mean you don't want it. And look at that, you're getting it anyway," Potter said, turning back to him, "because the alternative is you getting hexed inside out by vengeful wankers holding a grudge." He tossed over Draco’s wand and put his own away.

"In which case you would cry tears of purest shining sorrow, because you care so deeply about my wellbeing." Draco held onto his wand a moment just for the reassurance before reluctantly tucking it back in its sheath.

“I’ll admit I wouldn't exactly be shattered, but I would be a bit disgusted with myself if something lethal happened to you that I could have prevented," Potter said.

"Why?" Draco demanded. "You didn't give a toss about me back when my family still had prestige and power, why are you bothering now? And don't say that's exactly why. I am not some bloody puppy who needs rescuing from a mud puddle."

"More like a snake."

"Exactly." A group of students came out of the dining hall chattering and Draco stepped closer to Potter, holding his gaze with narrowed eyes. "I am a Slytherin," he said quietly when the group was past, "a Malfoy, born to the Dark Arts. I trust you haven't forgotten that. Pick up a snake and you risk getting bitten. Believe me when I say I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you, you git, I'm just trying to keep you from getting killed!" Potter said in exasperation. "Although I grant you sometimes I wonder why I bother."

"And what do you answer yourself?"

"Because you're here, and you didn't have to be! That took some determination. You had to know it wouldn't be easy being here, you knew you'd be surrounded by people with every reason to hate you, and you came anyway. Willingly - unless it was your dad's idea."

Draco's shoulders tightened. "Hardly."

"Yeah, I figured." Potter tilted his head, his gaze measuring. "You haven't threatened to complain to him about any of the treatment you've gotten, so I thought he might not approve. If you'd had a curse like this back at Hogwarts, he'd probably have bought all of Mungo's to get it fixed."

That was uncomfortable to reflect on. Draco pushed the thought away and fixed Potter with a dubious look. "So you're dogging my heels, threatening people on my behalf, because I'm here, and that automatically suits me to be taken under your wing."

"Because you're here, which I wouldn't have expected of you in the first place, and if you have an ulterior motive it hasn't hurt anyone, and since you've been keeping to yourself you deserve to be left alone! These blighters going after you, it's not because you actually did anything to them, and that's not right."

"I did plenty to you," Draco observed.

"Yeah, I haven't forgotten. There's the time you broke my nose, for one. And you almost killed Katie Bell, and you let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, which I'm less likely to forgive than stupid schoolboy disagreements." The cool look on his face made Draco uneasy, and then he shrugged and looked away. "On the other hand, I almost killed you, so I don't exactly have the moral high ground."

Draco wasn't sure if it was more unnerving or annoying that he'd just acknowledged that out loud. Admitting it so openly seemed like an invitation to have the admission used against him, but it also simultaneously pulled its teeth as a weapon.

A larger crowd of students began to trickle out of the dining hall and Potter glanced around at them. "So," he said, "think you can get wherever you're going without any ambushes?"

"If not, you certainly won't hear about it from me," Draco retorted.

"Well, they haven't killed you yet, so I suppose your chances are good." He frowned. "Not even with the Bone-Melt incident, and that could easily have been lethal if you hadn't detected the taste immediately, so well done there."

Draco stared at him. "When... How did you hear about that?"

"These enemies of yours aren't exactly subtle, Malfoy. People notice, and people talk. You should know all about that."

"I thought you knew better than to believe rumor and gossip."

"I do. I happened to be talking with some of the international trainees, and one of them mentioned she was sitting near you at the time, so I got it firsthand. She was alarmed that someone seemed to be trying to kill a student. Some of them understand about the Death Eater thing better than others," Potter added without much expression.

"I had noticed that," Draco said. "I find their ignorance almost as refreshing as I do disturbing."

"Uh-huh." Potter sounded dubious.

They watched each other for a moment. "I'm not going to thank you, you know," Draco said.

"And I was so looking forward to it, too," Potter said, rolling his eyes. "Really, Malfoy, if you started being civil at this point I would probably faint."

"Was that the Dementors' secret, untoward courtesy? Now I know," Draco drawled. It wasn't one of his better efforts, and Potter just shook his head.

"Make an effort to not get murdered, would you? I've got homework to do," he said, and started down the hall as Draco seethed.

"I don't need your protection!" he snapped at Potter's back.

"Whatever, Malfoy," came the answer over one shoulder before he turned a corner and was gone.

\------

The journey back to Draco's room was accomplished without incident after that. Homework went more easily than expected, and Draco was relieved to go to bed at a reasonable hour for once. He took a dose of the libido-blocker Summers had given him, since the curse was projected to next activate in the middle of the night, and hauled the covers over him. He was asleep in minutes.

As deeply as he slept after the recent run of late nights, some part of Draco never entirely relaxed these days, and the sound of the door opening woke him. He lay still a second, strung taut, every sense alert and heart pounding. Light came through his closed eyelids. The intruder was using Lumos, not trying to hide. Of course, whoever it was thought he was asleep. It was interesting that they hadn't cast whatever hex they were planning on the moment the door was open, though. Savoring the moment, or with something in mind that required proximity?

His hand was already under the pillow on his wand, as it often was when he woke. He moved all at once, whipping out the wand to point at the intruder with a silent blasting curse, and in the light from the lit wand saw Harry Potter go flying into the wall.

For a moment there was just the shock of it, quickly met by resignation. Potter had only been feigning neutrality, then, and remembering the grievances between them had finally drawn him out. Anger woke in Draco and the old enmity flared up eagerly, overtaking his shock. He threw a Freezing charm before Potter had quite landed, but a flick of Potter's wand bounced it back, forcing Draco to block it as the Lumos winked out. The room went pitch dark.

"Light!" Draco snapped, keeping his wand pointed in Potter's direction, and the lamp on his bedside table obediently lit up. The second he could see, Draco threw another hex, and another after that, and a third. Every breath he was on edge waiting for the moment Potter would seize the split second between _Protego_ s and strike. Draco couldn't cast two spells at once, and anything less just couldn't keep Potter busy enough.

The moment kept not coming, though. Potter blocked and countered and showed no inclination to throw anything back. He looked odd in the circle of golden lamplight, flushed in the face and almost dazed. “Stop it,” he mumbled, and Draco was so startled by the tone of mild annoyance rather than anything sharper that his casting slowed.

Despite the opportunity, Potter continued to not take the offensive.  He was in his nightclothes, Draco realized, and finally paused, wand still raised, to stare a moment.

“What do you want?” he said guardedly, finally pushing off the elbow he'd been leaning on and sitting up.

Potter lowered his own wand without hesitation, stepping forward.  “Come here,” he said, moving to Draco’s side in apparent complete unconcern about the wand steadily pointing at his chest.  He raised his open hand, not seeming to notice Draco’s aborted flinch, cupped Draco’s cheek despite his rigidity and outraged expression, and leaned in.  And in.

Harry Potter was kissing him.

The glasses were not as awkward as Draco would've guessed. They bumped against the bridge of his nose once, a brief chilly touch, but that was all. Perhaps if he was kissing back, or if it was a more forceful kiss, but despite his single-mindedness, Potter was oddly gentle. If Draco hadn't taken that anti-libidinal, he might have been able to appreciate it.

As it was, he sat frozen for a moment, barely breathing, touch memories from the past several days slamming through him until panic rattled in his lungs. Potter was climbing onto the bed now, pushing at him to lie down. Draco clenched his jaw and put his arms around Potter, still sitting up, and silently cast a Stunning spell behind his back.

Then he folded over and focused on breathing as Potter landed in an unconscious heap on the floor.

When he'd finished shaking, he quickly dressed, then raised his wand, floating Potter’s slack form into the air. Time to get this nonsense sorted for good.

\------

Summers turned from his final diagnostic spell to frown blankly at the quill taking notes.  He looked drawn and worn, though when Draco had woken him some time ago he'd seemed invigorated by the prospect of finally learning the source of the problem.

“I assume your analysis worked this time,” Draco said, prompting.

“Oh yes, as I said, with the spell active it's no issue at all,” Summers said.  “Yes, the tracery is clear enough on the both of you,” he nodded to the still-unconscious Potter, “to pinpoint exactly what we're dealing with.”

There wasn't room for Draco’s stomach to sink any lower, but from the tightening of Summers’ lips he surmised that his worst fears had been quite deserved.

Summers drew a breath, then visibly changed his mind about what he was going to say. “There is one small piece of good news. You may be pleased to hear that now that the spell has settled on a secondary object, it appears to have completely resolved the instability and come into balance. It won't be making any more unpredictable changes, I think. Now, as for the bad news... It appears to be a heavily modified Maritalis,” Summers told him quietly.

Draco almost laughed in pure bleak appreciation, because of course it was.  Of course.

“I presume you know of it,” Summers added, eyeing him, and Draco nodded shortly.  “I suspect Mr. Potter does not.  I'd best wake him, so that… I can explain the situation to him.”

He cast Renervate and pushed a glass into Potter’s hand even as he blearily sat up.  “Take this, Mr. Potter.”

Trustingly Potter tossed it back even as his eyes went unerringly to Draco.  As if compelled, he stood and stepped forward, then staggered and blinked.  “What… wait, what was in that?”

“A libido blocker, since…”  Summers sighed heavily.  “You have been caught up in Mr. Malfoy’s curse.”

Potter’s eyes widened.  “Oh.  That explains - I'm sorry,” he said abruptly to Draco, grimacing.  “All things considered, I wouldn't have blamed you for hexing me into a puddle.”

Draco had been expecting very nearly the opposite of an apology and was rattled by this, but he rallied.  “It's the least I could do, Potter,” he said smoothly.  “After all, my marriage prospects weren't exactly glowing previous to this, so I probably owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“What?” Potter said, frowning from him to Summers, who cut Draco off before he could continue.

“Mr. Malfoy, kindly refrain from muddying the waters any further; this is going to be difficult enough without your input.  Mr. Potter, I am sorry to inform you that the incomplete Focus Potion spilled on the two of you apparently interfered with the protective measures I had taken to the extent that the curse is now focused securely on you, as well as Mr. Malfoy.  This is some improvement for him, as the curse can no longer draw in multiple people at once as temporary fixes, but since it has fastened on you as the permanent secondary object, I fear the blessing is so mixed as to be nullified.”

Potter’s frown was disturbed, but not nearly as much as the situation deserved.  Of course, he didn't yet understand the full depth of the snakepit he'd been dropped in.

Summers raked a hand through his hair and drew a breath.  “Which brings me to the second point, which is even less pleasant.  I'm afraid I've identified the curse.”

“That's supposed to be good news, Ben,” Potter said, frowning.  “Identifying the curse is the first step to removing it.  Why do I think you're going to tell me this is an exception?”

“Perhaps you're just too used to being the exception, Potter,” Draco suggested.

“Mr. Malfoy, you are not helping,” Summers snapped, stopped, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I apologize. But please try to harness your quips for a brief moment.”  He drew a long breath.  “The spell appears to be a heavily modified Maritalis,” he said, and looked at Potter in hope.

Potter blinked and shook his head.  “It's something to do with marriage?” he guessed, glancing at Draco.

“Yes,” Summers said, shoulders sagging.  “It is.  In old pureblood families, it used to be cast on a newlywed couple, especially in arranged marriages.”

“Still is, for some,” Draco said.  “Tradition, you know.”

Summers looked at him and Potter said thoughtfully, “Families like yours, Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, well noted, Potter. Yes, obviously. It was used on my parents, although it was quite unnecessary in their case. Mother mentioned it once or twice; she seemed rather fond of the memories.”

“So what is it meant to do?”

“The purpose is to be sure the marriage is consummated,” Summers explained,  “whether the pair enjoys one another’s company or not.  The spell… compels a couple into marital activity on a daily basis until the requirements are satisfied, I'm not sure what the traditional time period is.  Mr. Malfoy, I don't suppose you're aware - ?”

“Anywhere from weeks to months,” Draco supplied.  “It depends on if the casters are hoping for an heir by the end.”

“Mm.  I expect I can find out the precise duration of this one if it becomes necessary.”  Summers fell silent a moment, frowning to himself.

Potter folded his arms.  “So why can't you take it off us?”

“To the best of my knowledge, there is no way to counter or remove the Maritalis, unless of course it's done by the original caster,” Summers said, looking down at his hands.  “It is possible that if the two of you took up residence in the curse ward of St. Mungo’s one of the experts there might eventually find a way, but given the Dark nature of the spell, I estimate it would take a year or longer.”

“But it will have gone away on its own by then, won't it?” Potter protested.  “You said it only lasts weeks or months!”

“If the conditions of the spell are fulfilled, yes.  Otherwise it will persist, possibly for… an indefinite length of time.”

“Well, is there any way to find out who cast it? You said the caster could remove it. It's got to be someone Dark, obviously, and probably a pureblood. Maybe an escaped Death Eater? If we catch them, we can force them to take it off.”

Keeping his face blank, Draco watched Summers.

Summers pressed his lips together.  “Despite your excellent record of catching Dark wizards, it does not seem an easy prospect in this case. The spell is normally cast on the couple directly, the caster standing before them, in which case identification would be simple. This was clearly done from a distance, and it was cast on Mr. Malfoy alone with the other end of the spell left open to draw in a partner, and that was done sloppily enough to result in the series of unfortunate encounters we have seen.” He made a disgusted gesture. “So either the Dark wizard is unskilled and modified the spell clumsily, or didn't care enough about the effects to do it properly. Since that doesn't much narrow the pool of possibilities, I'm afraid there's no sure way to determine the caster.”

Draco silently let out his breath.

Frowning, Summers paused.  “What troubles me,” he said slowly, “is why this particular spell was chosen.”

“Malfoy’s got plenty of enemies,” Potter started, then caught on. “Oh, that's it, though, isn't it? If someone wants him to suffer, why not use some sort of wasting curse, make him sick or hurt or something like that? This seems like an awfully roundabout way to do it.”

“Exactly,” Summers said.

“Surely knowing the reason would get us no closer to a solution,” Draco said.

“True enough,” Summers sighed.

“Wait,” Potter said. “The spell’s all about family and pureblood tradition, isn't it? It could have been family that cast it, you said your dad wasn't pleased with you coming here, Malfoy.”

Draco opened his mouth, but was forestalled by Summers.

“Are you suggesting that Lucius Malfoy cast a spell on his heir that would cause him to be assaulted by strangers?” he said, looking at Potter in horror.

Draco swallowed, glad that for a moment no one was looking at him.

“He might not have intended that part to happen,” Potter tried, but Summers was shaking his head.

“Either way, you fail to grasp the most important piece of the tradition, Mr. Potter, which is preserving the purity of the blood and the quality of the family line. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy could tell you how carefully a spouse is chosen, and how small the eligible pool is. Their heredity must be impeccable. Anyone close enough to care about the family’s future would no more modify the spell to attach a randomly chosen unknown to the heir than they would have him marry a house elf, and certainly not the family patriarch.”

“Oh. Right,” Potter said, looking sheepish. Draco gave him a small sneer because it made a distraction from the feeling that a ball of spikes had lodged in his chest. Potter took no notice. “So it could be an enemy of the family. I don't suppose those are exactly thin on the ground either, even narrowed down to just the Dark ones.”

“Likely not,” Summers agreed, “which is why attempting to chase down the caster seems a useless endeavor to me.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Potter demanded.

“You choices appear rather limited, Mr. Potter,” Summers replied sharply. “If you wish to finish out the school year rather than take up residence at Mungo’s, I am afraid your best option is to take libido blockers. We can hope that going your separate ways at the end of that time will help, and that since the spell was modified in such a slipshod manner, distance and time will serve to break it down as a normal Maritalis would not.”

“You're joking,” Potter said, staring at him. “There's nothing we can do?”

“I realize that must be quite difficult for you in particular to accept,” Summers said, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “But not every issue can be solved by heroism. To be patient and endure is sometimes all that can be done.”

Potter was not at all satisfied with that, but Summers had little more to say. After a bit more discussion, the boys left Summers to reclaim his abandoned bed and headed back to their own rooms, now provided with enough doses of the libido blocker for several days. Their paths coincided for several corridors, and Draco was alarmed to notice at one point that he'd fallen into step with Potter without realizing as they walked shoulder to shoulder.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” he said abruptly.

“Doing what?”

“Right. Never mind.”

“Don't be a git, what are you - oh.” Potter moved to a more natural distance and deliberately lengthened his stride enough to get out of step.

Draco caught his breath and made an involuntary sound of protest. It felt like having something pulled away that he'd been leaning on, or some source of warmth stolen in time for him to realize how cold the surrounding air was.

Potter glanced over at the noise, meeting his gaze with a frown. “Yeah, I know, but I'd rather deal with being uncomfortable than let the bloody spell push me around.”

“My discomfort isn't worth a second thought, of course,” Draco said, eyes narrowed.

“That's _not_ what I - look, are you telling me you'd honestly rather just let this thing do whatever it likes?”

“Obviously not, since I'm taking the sodding blocker, aren't I.”

“All right then.”

Draco curled his lip. “It's not going to matter, you know,” he said softly. “We can resist and block it off and keep apart as long as we want, it's not going to go away. Even modified like this, the Maritalis isn't as fragile as Summers seems to think. It's made to withstand and overcome resistance - you think all those married couples were as well suited as my parents?”

Potter stopped walking. “What are you saying, Malfoy?” he growled.

Draco turned to face him, smirking not because he felt at all amused but because it would annoy Potter. “I'm saying this plan isn't going to work.”

Potter stepped into his space, glaring from close range. “So what's your idea then? I notice you didn't have any useful suggestions when Ben was listing our options in there, but you do seem to know an awful lot about the spell, maybe you know something he doesn't. Maybe you're hiding something.”

The mental discipline necessary for Occlumency did come in handy at unexpected times. Draco stuffed down panic where it wouldn't show and let only the annoyance into his expression. “Just because I didn't instantly blither an essay’s worth of information at you doesn't mean I'm hiding it,” he snapped. “I'm not your - ” not Mudblood, bad idea “ - I'm not Granger. I know about the Maritalis because I knew it was going to be cast on me - no, not _now!_ ” he added in exasperation, seeing the suspicion on Potter’s face. “Eventually, when I married. Tradition is important. I wanted to know what it was like, so I looked into it. Satisfied?”

“No!” Potter said. “If you don't think Ben’s plan is going to work, what are you going to do about it?”

Draco gave him a blank look. “What am I going to do? Take my blockers and pretend.” He turned and started walking again, ignoring the internal twinge as he moved away from Potter.

“You've got to be joking,” came the disgusted response from behind him, and then Potter caught up. He didn't seem to notice that he'd fallen into step with Draco again. Draco wasn't sure how he could overlook the warm, quiet influx of support and comfort, but he was grateful. “So, what,” Potter said, “you don't think the spell will break, so you're going to have to take bloody libido blockers for - forever - and you're just _fine_ with this?”

“Probably I'll change my mind at some point and off myself,” Draco said through his teeth, “but not just yet.”

“That's not funny.”

“It wasn't a joke.”

Potter reached out and caught his arm. “Malfoy, you can't just, just _say_ that, you can't start thinking that any time it gets hard!”

Draco wrenched his arm free. They'd stopped walking again, staring at each other. “On the contrary, Potter, that's exactly what I can do. What, are you going to tell me there's some reason not to?”

“It's giving up! You haven't even tried to break the spell yet and you're already ready to quit! That's pathetic!”

Draco snarled in his face, wand hand twitching with the desire to hex him. “You seem a bit hard of thinking tonight, Potter, so let me say this in small words: There is no way out. We cannot break the spell. We can resist as long as you like, it won't help. I have two ways to get through this; the one you disdain as giving up, or giving in to the spell until it runs its course. And here's something I doubt you've considered.” Draco lowered his voice despite the empty corridor. “What exactly do you think the general reaction is going to be when the rest of the school finds out that I've trapped you with my curse? Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, subject to the perverse whims of Draco Malfoy the Death Eater. It doesn't even matter whether we give in or put it off with anti-libidinals, they'll be howling for my blood either way. As soon as they find out, my life is worth less than a broken wand.”

“So we'll make sure no one finds out,” Potter said impatiently. “It's not as if Ben’s going to tell anyone.”

“What,” Draco scoffed, “as though you're going to keep this from Granger and Weasley?”

Potter opened his mouth, closed it, and glared at him. “Hermione won't tell anyone,” he said after a minute, “and Ron…” He hesitated. “I might tell Ron if he swears to keep it to himself and stay off you about it. And me,” he added in a mutter.

Draco eyed him for a moment. He hadn't expected Potter to admit it might be a problem, or actually take it seriously. Pity that even such precautions would only delay the inevitable. “And the Weasley girl?” he said. “I'm a bit behind on the gossip, but I assume you're still seeing her?”

“Leave her out of this,” Potter said shortly.

“That only works for so long, Potter. For instance, up until the two of you decide you want a shag, and - ”

Potter grabbed the front of Draco’s robes. “I told you to leave off!”

“Don't be an idiot, I'm trying to make a point!” Draco pushed him off, glaring. “It's not my fault if your stupid optimism makes you even blinder than usual! What's she going to say when you stop taking your blocker and - ”

“All right,” Potter growled.

“ - immediately go running off to someone - ”

“I said all _right,_ I get it, shut up!”

Draco paused and raised an eyebrow pointedly. “The fact of the matter is that we can only keep this secret for so long. Eventually people will find out.”

Potter scowled at him. “You're intolerable, Malfoy.”

“And I'm just as delighted to be eternally bound to you.”

“I'm not the one making bloody suicide threats!”

“And I can't imagine why,” Draco snarled, “with half the people you pass in the halls trying to murder you on a daily basis, no one you can trust at your back, and a spell that says ‘open invitation to random passersby and enemies; fuck me anytime!’” He stopped, breathing hard. “Your life,” he finished softly, “must be so difficult.”

Potter’s eyes narrowed as he studied Draco’s face.  His expression was hard to read and Draco couldn't tell what he was looking for.  “Yeah, well,” he said, “at least you don't have to worry about that invitation anymore.”

Draco let out a huff of mirthless laughter.  “Yes, because this is so much better!”

“It is better and you know it, Malfoy.  For one thing, you're not going to get random people grabbing you in the halls, and for another, we've got it under control now.  We have as much time as we need to figure out how to get rid of this.”

“There _is_ _no way_ to get rid of it, except the two methods I've mentioned.  And really, Potter, I don't understand why you're so resistant to my suggestion.  It's not as though you like having me around.”  Draco began moving down the corridor again and Potter fell into step beside him.

“That doesn't mean I want you dead, you git!  Besides, it almost seems like you've been trying to be a decent person the last few months.  You're not much good at it yet, but you haven't had much practice.  It'd be a shame to waste it.”

Curling a lip, Draco didn't bother to respond.

“So, you going to agree not to do that?”

“Likely not, given that I have plenty of reason to ‘do that’ and no incentive not to.  Since it would solve your own problem nicely, I don't know why you're set against it.”

Potter sighed.  “The sad thing is, you really don't.  Right, then.  You need an incentive not to kill yourself?  How's this: your mum would be completely shattered.”

Draco hadn't been expecting it and his breath caught in his throat, even as outrage flared that Potter would use that against him.

It was true. His mother hadn't wanted him to come here any more than Father had, she'd been worried about how the other students would treat him, but she hadn't let the disagreement stand between them. She wrote every week. If his letters stopped coming in return, he could see the look on her face all too clearly, the suppressed fear growing until she found out and fear was replaced by devastation.

He breathed in with some difficulty. “You are an utter _bastard_.”

Potter shrugged. “She saved my life once. I owe her something. Don't do that to her, all right?”

“Fine. You complete - _fine_.”

“I'm not saying - all I'm saying is, if you start feeling like that again, tell Summers or someone so they can help.”

“And meanwhile, your solution is what?” Draco’s mouth twisted dubiously. “To take our blockers like good little children and hope something turns up?”

“Oh, I'm not just going to sit around hoping,” Potter said. “Tomorrow you're going to tell Hermione everything you know about the Maritalis so she can start researching it.”

“That's it? You're pinning your hopes on Granger turning up a counter to a spell that pureblood heirs have fought unsuccessfully for _hundreds of years_.”

“I would think you'd remember what a bad idea it is to underestimate her, Malfoy.” Potter stopped by a side corridor. “We've got nothing to lose, and there don't seem to be any better options. If you had a better idea you wouldn't be talking about offing yourself. So we'll do this, and if we haven't gotten anywhere in a couple of months we'll talk about it then. Get some sleep.”

He turned away and headed down the other corridor, leaving Draco gaping and infuriated behind him. Within seconds, though, Draco was distracted from the indignity of Harry bloody Potter giving him orders by the sensation of being stretched, as though a piece of him was pulling farther and farther away. For a minute or two he thought it would be all right, the feeling would fade to a tolerable level, but Potter kept walking and the stretch only grew, a burning ache in his bones. Draco was perfectly familiar with pain these days, thanks, but there was no reason to encourage it.

“Potter,” he gasped, “wait.”

Potter turned around, looking strained. “What?”

He fumbled for something to say. “It didn't feel like this before.”

“Yeah, I guessed. Suppose that's the difference between the spell sort of messing about instead of being set, sealed or whatever.” Taking a visible breath, Potter turned to keep going and Draco panicked as everything twinged warningly.

“No, wait!”

Potter glared at him. “Malfoy, we can't just stand here all night.”

“I know, I know, just - give me a minute, can't you?”

“I don't think it's going to stop, we just have to get used to it.”

“That's what I'm trying to do, you git!”

“Well sorry, but I'm tired and I want to get back to bed!”

Draco took a long breath, and another, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. He was aware that despite his complaints Potter was standing there waiting instead of moving away again, and hated having to be grateful to him. “All right,” he forced out after a bit. “Go on, then.”

Potter nodded shortly, put his head down and strode away as if pushing through deep water. Draco didn't see him round the far corner because he'd closed his eyes, struggling to breathe.

It hurt, but not terribly, if only it would stop tugging and getting worse. He stood there and panted, enduring with everything in him. After a while he realized it had reached a plateau, and if it got no better at least the ache had stopped increasing. Sagging, he slowly started back to his room. He felt overstretched, hot and chafed raw at his marrow, and his hands were shaking.

Finally he reached his room and bed, changed into bedclothes once more, and lay down. And then lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to ignore the discomfort long enough to fall asleep.

It did not seem to be ignorable. He changed positions, tossed and turned, but exhausted as he was, the ache kept sleep away for hours. Finally near dawn he fell into a fitful doze.

His sheets had turned red and gold and he vaguely knew that the bed was not his, and that outside was a well tended garden and a wood rolling across the hills, but the important thing was that Potter was combing fingers through Draco’s hair and smiling sleepily.

“I'm glad you cut it,” he said. “You were looking too much like Lucius. But the kids are disappointed you won't let them braid it now.”

“I wouldn't let them braid it before,” Draco pointed out. “Sticky little fingers pulling my hair, no thank you.”

“Yes, but they lived in hope, you ungenerous git.” Potter rolled closer to mouth at the back of Draco’s neck, making him shiver. “Come on, up. Ginny’s making breakfast and if you're nice she might include you.”

Draco was trying to make a point about which part of him, exactly, Potter wanted to get up, but he ended up arguing about the proper kind of moss to build a doorjamb, and then the dream dissolved entirely. By the time he woke, he only remembered something about moss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not ask when I will next update or if this fic is abandoned. I dislike abandoning fics and would certainly make a note on this one if I was going to quit.
> 
> On the other hand, if you enjoy this chapter, feel free to tell me so in as much or little detail as you like, it is valuable feedback!


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